


They Have Their Seasons, So Do We

by AmberSkye



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera - Gaston Leroux, Phantom - Susan Kay
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Slow Burn, Some mix of Kay! Leroux! and Webber! Erik, There are only like 3 angsty moments
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-17
Updated: 2017-04-16
Packaged: 2018-09-18 03:27:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 43,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9365981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmberSkye/pseuds/AmberSkye
Summary: An Erik in his twenties has arrived recently at the Opera House with a haunted past and haunted face. A young woman learning what independence means gets her dream job as a violinist through less than usual channels. She strikes up a very unlikely friendship.Slow burn which comes into being over talks about poetry and music over tea. There's a background m/m relationship with the main character's cousin and another violinist. The main character's world is not limited to her relationship with Erik, but the reader can focus on those parts if they choose and not lose out.





	1. Paris, December 2, 1869

**Author's Note:**

> Fixing the eye-destroying spacing.
> 
> Apologies in advance for butchering of all history, art, and poetry that is coming.

Paris, December 2, 1869

Clutching the invitation she received to the Opera Garnier’s ball was much like holding onto a lifeline. Her elder cousin offered his arm as they neared the door, giving her a sly smile. They had discussed it in hushed tones on the way to the ball - they both had a secret that they would rather not be shared, and because in polite company neither of those things would be achieved on their own, they had conspired to help one another.

“Come, cousin mine. Let me have the invitation, if you will.” he said, adjusting his clothing and pulling on white kidskin gloves. She nodded lightly, drawing herself up into the right kind of posture. Her eyes already were scanning the scene. Tonight was her chance to get away from the aunt that she lived with, who had taken her in. When she was a child, both of her parents had died of disease, and she was soon moved away from home. She was not ungrateful, never that, but her aunt was of a much higher class than she had been, and the upper crust had never sat just right with her. It wasn’t that she disdained it, or wasn’t intelligent enough for it, but more the lack of freedom that came with it, and the social rules. So many rules - who cared what fork she used to eat with? Her cousin was much better at playing noble, he quite enjoyed being a gentleman. His problem came from the fact his choice in romantic relationships was not the most socially acceptable. Tonight there was a young man here that was the son of her aunt’s best friend, and her being his escort was an excuse for them to meet in secret.

Her reason for coming tonight was a bit less scandalous. She wanted to work at the Opera, as a violinist. If not that, then perhaps a stagehand, or a painter, or even a maid. Anything, really, that would leave her close to the music she loved so much, that she could explore it on her own, every day. It wasn’t unheard of for women to be musicians, especially here in Paris. However the getting there without professional training, coming on her own time with no one to accompany her - those would be her obstacles. Her cousin firmly believed she could play here, and swore to help her. 

So there they were, and seemingly normal pair, hand on arm. “Miss Ami Prescott and Mister Edward Prescott, welcome.” the doorman greeted, and Ed handed over the cards to be disposed of. They entered a sparkling building covered in shining lights, pine decorations, and holiday music streaming from the hall. They followed the people to the source, where there were even more elaborate decorations, with tinsel in patterns hanging from the walls. The flood of people deposited them on the sidelines of the floor where people mingled and workers walked around with hors d'oeuvres and drinks.

“Alright, Ami. We have. . .” he checked the nearest timepiece, “two hours, or thereabout, to find what we came here to find, and then it's dinner, so you need to make sure it looks like I’ve been a dutiful escort and you’re seen with me a few times before that.”

She smiled, they had gone over this plan many a time, but he was anxious to see the boy he was pining after. And it was true that if they made a social faux pas, word would undoubtedly get back to her aunt, and he certainly would not be going out in public for awhile. She nodded, and they walked the perimeter of the dance floor. The Opera was truly lovely, she felt plain in her dress beside the other ladies who went all out with their outfits, so complex she might call them costumes. And those hairstyles - they were like art themselves. But if they noticed they didn’t say anything as she mingled with them and gleaned information. About ten minutes in, she hadn’t come across anyone who worked at the Opera excepting those that were playing the instruments in the background or offering food, and she couldn’t disturb them. Perhaps at dinner? However, Ed had spotted the boy she wanted to, and she inched her way along the edge of the floor with him in tow. 

“Good evening, miss Ami. And you, Edward.” the man greeted them, giving the customary bow to her, but his eyes were on Ed. A sly smile spread on her face.   
“Good evening. Would there be a lady in your company, if I may ask?” Ami said, directly to the point. If she appeared a bit eccentric, that was fine. She had always been seen as such.   
"Ah - no, my lady, unfortunately not." he replied, taken aback.  
"I see. Ed, I think the air here is making me a bit faint." She lied. "Would you take me out to the balcony? Oh, and of course you are more than welcome to come Charles."   
"That sounds just fine." He said, and the trio made their way out to the balcony, where she walked to the other side of the railing for them to make doe eyes at one another.

Even out here was lit with candles and had a streamer wrapped around the balcony railing. She ignored her brother’s quiet conversation, giving them what privacy she could, and thought of her own plight. She had little chance, she brought no violin,, and people would assume she was searching for a husband. She was not. But it would affect her chances of getting a job. She worried her bottom lip and planned until dinner, when Charles made sure to sit on the other side of Ed, who was a dutiful escort and provided her food before his own with all the airs of a proper gentleman. Another social nicety she would like to do away with, she thought, as he served her dry white meat and too much sauce. Luckily, her small bites looked dainty and not offensive. A few courses later, and their plates were cleared away, and they were all invited once more out onto the floor. The trio made their way this time to listen to the musicians, with Ami gathering all the information she could. To apply for a job, said one previous employee, she would have to talk to the managers, and audition with the strings section leader, a strict old man who had been here forever. After dinner she would have to manage to pull him aside. Perhaps he would admire her tenacity and ignore the rudeness? 

Conversation never moving past light gossip and niceties, except for the silent exchange of glances her cousin kept giving Charles. She herself gleaned information about how the musicians lived from a man who was taking a break from the cello. There were none who currently lived in the Opera house, but there had been a case where a young man became out on his luck, and his skill was such that they allowed him an apartment there. She was certain that she could afford lodging until she proved her skill.

As hard as she looked, she simply couldn’t find the managers, whose approval she needed before even seeing the string section leader. The likelihood of her coming back another day soon was not that great, and normal business practices were shut down for this ball. “Ed, I’m going out to the balcony. Yes, alone. I just need some fresh air, I’ll be back in shortly. Come get me if you need anything.” she said to him, and drifted outside unnoticed before her cousin could protest. She paused before sitting on a stone bench there, examining the names carved into their sides. Architects, perhaps? 

“Pierre. . .” she attempted to read the faded stone.  
“Pierre Perrin. He managed this Opera House first. By the end of his term, he ended up imprisoned for debts. Yet eventually those crimes are forgiven, and they print your name somewhere most people will never see it again.” came a voice to her right. She spun to face the male’s voice, but found nothing.   
“Who is it?” she asked, tense. She found a corner of the balcony and situated herself there, so no one could sneak up behind her. There was another pause.  
“No one of importance. I am more interested in you. Spurned by a date?” the voice sneered, but this time it came from a different place.  
“Not at all. I simply came here for some air. And to find a manager, if you know where one would be.”   
“Not out on a balcony. Why would you look for one?”  
“I don’t make a habit of telling my doings to a shadow.” she retorted, her fear mostly gone, and replaced by curiosity.   
“But you would tell your doings to a strange man, alone outdoors, without a soul to hear you?”  
“My doings are perfectly innocent, so I don’t see why not. I don’t plan on stealing the stone bench you dislike so much.” she said, arms now crossed. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I would like to find a manager before the night is out.” 

She started towards the door, when she heard his voice again. “I find I would like to hear why you are looking for one. You aren’t here to complain. The event was planned meticulously.” came from right behind her, and she turned in surprise. There in the place she had been standing was a man. He was quite tall, and very thin, but she could not tell how much so because his skin was covered head to toe in extremely well made evening wear and jacket, and on his face was a black leather mask that covered from forehead to upper lip. She wasn’t about to question it though, considering he had been a moment ago a disembodied voice. He could have been a shadow or silhouette if not for his eyes, which had an eerie glow to them, golden in the dark night. He was. . .uncanny. His stance was something between casual and royal as he awaited her answer.

She only stuttered a little, which was an accomplishment in this case. “I would like to apply to work here.”  
“You’re too old to become a dancer, and unless you have been singing your whole life and somehow we have not heard of you, that is unlikely as well.”  
She narrowed her eyes, even though she wanted to be neither of those things it didn’t mean he had to be cruel about their positions. “I was not going to try for one of those, thank you. I wish to be a violinist.” she said, chin up, waiting for the scoff or pitied look. She got neither, and instead he nodded once.  
“Well then, I think I would like to hear you play.”   
“And certainly I would give you that opportunity, but I have no violin here, and I really must see the manager. This is the only time I would be able to come here, you see, and if I cannot get an answer tonight. . .”  
“Is your home far, that would have to travel to come here?”  
“No. I live with my aunt, and though I love her, truly, we come from different lives. I would pay for lodging nearby with my savings, and then with my paycheck.”  
“I see. And what if I told you that I could guarantee you a spot here, if I found your music pleasant?”  
“Your talking to young women alone is suspicious, but I would not have called you a liar before now.” she replied simply. 

He clearly wasn’t a worker here, or any guest she’d seen inside. In fact, her survival instinct was kicking in, and she was about to walk away when -   
“What do you have to lose? The managers are on vacation, this party is being held by the people in their stead, and they do not have the authority to hire.”   
She turned away and sighed. She should go inside, and definitely should not trust this masked man. But he was right, what did she have to lose with some music? “My violin is at home.” she protested weakly, turning again and smoothing over her light blue dress.  
She couldn’t read his expression but he must have known he’d won. “I will retrieve you one. Stay here.”

By the time she thought to spin around and see where exactly he was going, he had already disappeared, and it hadn’t been through the doors leading back inside. She wondered why exactly she decided it was a good idea to trust him with anything. Now that she was back in her right mind, she wasn’t about to get herself murdered without anyone knowing, so she slipped inside to find her cousin. It was easy to spot him across the room now, most people were leaving for the evening, waiting in the foyer for their carriages and saying their last goodbyes. The workers had begun collecting empty plates and cups left around the floor and paid her little mind as she went to her brother. He was seeing off Charles as he left for the evening, so she hung back until she wondered if she should go back to the balcony so as not to miss the man’s return.  
“Ah, there you are. Are you about ready to leave?”  
“I’m afraid not. I met someone -” she put her hands on her hips at his waggling eyebrows, “Not like that, goodness. He claims he might be able to help me get a job if I can show him that I have violin skill. He is going to get a violin now. I would prefer if you waited here by the door for me, he is. . .unique.”  
“Well, I think most opera-goers are eccentric.” he said with a grin.  
She smiled. “Not exactly what I mean, but I’m glad you’re less worried than I am about my skill.” she said with a light smack on the shoulder.  
“You found a musician, then?”  
“Yes, I did.” After all, the man was clearly a musician. Just not one employed here.   
“You’re like a virtuoso, Ami. You’ll do just fine. I’ll be here, now go. Get a job, you freeloader.” he joked, and feeling a bit better she left to the balcony again.

There was no one there, at least at first glance.  
“Are you here?” she asked, feeling entirely silly, and when there was a reply to the affirmative she managed not to react.   
“I am. I thought you had left after all.”  
“No. . .this chance is more than likely false, but I’m willing to take it. This is a dream job.” she said with a wistful sigh, and drew herself up when the man appeared from a shadow. She eyed the spot suspiciously, there was nowhere he could have been out of her sight there. Very strange indeed.  
“I see. Here, I would like you to play two very different pieces to test your range.”   
She nodded, and took the violin, and she nearly gasped when she saw it. The violin was lightweight, a dark wood that hadn’t been stained or polished like all others she saw. The neck had patterns on it, leading to a scrollworked head, and when she looked closer she realized the entire thing was one solid piece of wood for the body and the neck. 

“I. . . this is beautiful.” she said, not wanting to think about its price. She had never used anything but a training violin before, she had never asked her aunt for one, she didn’t want to tell her that she wanted to be a violinist; that would never have gone well. Turning it over, she saw something written in a language she didn’t understand along the side. She looked up questioningly, and asked, “Is this. . .Latin?” she asked. Her family was not strictly religious, but she had been in church often enough to recognize it.  
“Correct. As a living tree I was silent, dead I sweetly sing.” he murmured.  
“It's amazing. Playing this is an honor. Is it yours?” she asked, and he nodded once, seeming not to care. She picked it up, looking to him to see if he was ready. At his nod, she began to play.

First, a proper audition piece, the Queen of the Night aria from The Magic Flute. She had done the transcribing the notes herself, so she knew she was missing some things, but it showed off her technical skill. She hoped. Then, when that was over, and not daring to look up, she relaxed her stance and adjusted her grip into something more comfortable and less professional. Holding the bow in a way her teacher harped was very incorrect and she would surely drop it, she played a soft but complicated lullaby, one that required finesse, but in a different way than a professional piece. Once done she remembered to breathe, and held the instrument up to the unnamed man, looking into his intense gaze this time.   
His look was unreadable, and he took his things back and put them in a case silently. She shifted from foot to foot, resisting the urge to demand an opinion. “You did better than I thought.” he said when the violin was safely away.

“There really is no reason for your rudeness.” she exclaimed, stopping her fidgeting. What was she supposed to take from that?  
He only scoffed once again. “You did well, then, if you insist on that wording.”   
“I do.” she replied with a thin smile.   
“Will your personality get in the way of getting along with others to the point your, or other's, skill would be affected?” He asked, and the emphasis on personality was unquestionably negative. She bristled.  
“Certainly not. I only ask for respect, and if that affects their skill in music I would have no part in it.” He looked at her again, and she had no idea of knowing what he was thinking. His mask blocked any expression and his posture was still so neutral.   
“I see. In that case, where are you staying tonight?”  
“That depends on your answer. Tell me when to come here, and I will find some way, if indeed you do have a job offer for me.”   
“I do. The managers will be back tomorrow morning. Tomorrow evening, you will find yourself a member of the strings section. I recommend you do not go far from the Opera, and come back here at three in the afternoon. You will have more information then.” he told her. 

She took a deep breath. Joke or not, she felt better about her chances, and what would one night out hurt, if it led to her dream? She nodded, and confirmed verbally, “Alright. I will see you then.”  
“You actually will not see me again.” he corrected. “Good night.” he said, and expected her to leave.   
“What is your name?” she asked, more confused than ever.   
“Unimportant. Don’t be late.” he told her, and seemed to disappear into the shadows. 

She could not see where he could possibly have gone - and she was getting worried Ed would come outside looking for her. She turned and went inside, practically dragging her cousin to their waiting carriage. He set a half-eaten slice of cake down on the table and mouthed an apology as he followed her. Inside the carriage, she filled Ed in on everything that had happened. He was even more suspicious than she was, but he agreed that he would cover for her if she helped him see Charles again sometime. That evening, she found herself in front of a boarding house.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sheltered girl meets the working world and it isn't all she hoped and more. At least, for now.

One very awkward night at a boarding house later, she found herself in front of the doors of the Opera Garnier once again. The foyer was still decorated, and they had managed to clean it all so it didn’t look like there had been a mass of people here just the night before. She took the hall that didn’t lead to the ballroom. Someone walking by asked her if she needed assistance, which she took with gratitude. Pointed in the right direction, she knocked on the manager’s office door. She waited for a response, looking into the reflective surface made by light reflecting on a glass pane, so made sure she looked good enough. Shoulders back, chin up, hair behind her so as not to fall in her face.

The door opened, and a tall man appeared (though not nearly so tall as the mysterious man from the night before.) It was clear remnants of the party were still there to be cleaned and filed, as there was a stack of parchment on his desk and a box of used invitations next to the chair he gestured for her to sit in. She took a careful seat, it appeared as if the manager who took over while this man was on vacation didn’t know where anything went, so instead of trying to find the proper place he just let it all sit in a pile. He didn’t mention the mess and she made no remark.   
“So.” he said carefully, and took a glimpse at the ceiling like he was looking for something. “You have been accepted into the string section, so long as you play a piece designated by the conductor flawlessly.” he told her simply. She blinked in confusion.  
“I do apologize, but I seem to have missed something. Is there no interview process?” she hadn’t known they were desperate for a musician. . .  
“Usually there is a rigorous one. However, you went through a rather different passage, one that does not follow the rules.” The man spat those words rather than said them.

The man. She repeated the words aloud, and he nodded once, quickly. Her whole body tensed, and she let out a deep sigh, looking down at her lap. “I am going to regret what I am about to say, I am certain.” she said, and he looked at her in concern. “But I will stand by it. I never wanted to. . .cheat the system. I plan on working here of my own skill, and though I am certain of it, I would not avoid the proper channels. I would like an interview. And if you do not wish to give me one, I will walk away and you will not have to deal with me again.” she said, attempting confidence.

Now it was his turn to be stunned into silence. “This is something to consider at length.” she was going to suggest she leave, but he continued, again looking around the room. “That is not a luxury I would think I have however. I accept your offer. Can you take the time to interview now?”   
She nodded her agreement immediately.

The interview process was not long, is was more determining her place in life than anything else. The music portion, he told her, was up to the conductor. After she had told what amounted to a short version of her life story, and repeated that yes, she had all the time in the world to dedicate to her job, he nodded, seemingly satisfied. 

“I will send for the conductor. You are welcome to remain here or go elsewhere, but I’m afraid I will not be much company, as you can see there is much to get in order here.” he said, and stepped into the hall, finding the nearest person and sending them to find the man.  
She nodded. “I haven’t anywhere I need to be. Perhaps I can assist you? I wouldn’t want to sit aside and just watch you do all the work.” she said with a small smile. He nodded gratefully, and directed her to help him until there was a knock on the door, which the manager opened to reveal the conductor, who introduced himself as Monsieur Jean-Phillipe Laurent, that would be Monsieur Laurent if she came to work under him. She agreed, of course, she wasn’t about to call her boss by his first name.   
He had her play three short pieces from the opera they were rehearsing for, and he nodding approvingly. "There is a problem of you not being professionally trained, but your talent is undeniable. I plan on giving you a trial period. We will see how it goes."  
Her gasp was one of happiness. "I will do you proud, Monsieur Laurent." she exclaimed, hands clapping together.  
“I certainly hope so. Have you a place to stay? I heard from Henri here that your living quarters were unsatisfactory? As a worker of the Garnier, that will concern us as it affects your work.”   
“I am staying in a house I would prefer not to for reasons of travel, but you needn't worry, I will gather my things today and use my savings and pay to rent a place until I can find one of my own.”   
The two men exchanged looks of disbelief. “You know how the process works?”

She pulled her dress straight instead of answering that. “I’ll find a way, and it won’t affect my music.”   
“Well.” The manager whose last name she still did not know, but whose first name was apparently Henri, told her, “I think we have a better solution. Jean-Phillipe, would you be so kind as to retrieve Giry for me?” The leader of the string section nodded, and gave her a head bob that was more of an afterthought, taking his leave of them.  
“Giry?” she asked.  
“Yes, the ballet mistress here, she is in charge of all the ballerinas, which means the chorus girls as well. Keeping them all in line is job enough, but she is the only one around here that knows how to care for a young lady like yourself, and she agreed to take on watching over you as well. As I should perhaps have said first, I know a room you can stay in.” She opened her mouth to thank him profusely. “Don’t get too excited, it is an old room, storage in name but mostly a dumping ground for things that have gotten lost or misplaced, and I do not know the last time it's been cleaned. I have never seen it, myself, but that is where we have room for you.” 

“Thank you, monsieur. The quality doesn’t matter to me, I will make it a home. I don’t mean to sound ungrateful but, ah, where would I. . .” she frowned, trying to think how to word it in a place where mentioning most things was called unmentionables, and the manager didn’t seem to be getting her question.Thankfully, there was a knock and the door opened to reveal the conductor and a woman, perhaps about 40 years of age. Her walking stick gave a thud with each step, and her gaze looked on Ami like a hawk, or perhaps a cat with a mouse. She subtly stood up straighter and adjusted her hair, and realized why she could keep that many young girls in line.

She gave a nod, seemingly satisfied. “You must be Ami Prescott? My name is Marie Giry, and I will be leading you to your room. Come now, I have your further instructions for when you are settled, and can answer any questions you may have.”  
“Thank you.” she said to each of the men in her company, and followed Madame Giry out the door hurriedly, as the woman had not waited for her. She had an idea the severe salt and pepper bun and walking stick were a kind of legend of their own around here. The door closing behind her felt much like her fate was sealed, and she took a deep breath of relief and happiness.

“So, you have questions for me, I assume?” Marie Giry said as they began to climb a flight of stairs.  
“Yes, madame. I know I have a room, but is it furnished? And where will I do things like laundry, and freshen up, or eat, for that matter?”  
“Your room does have a bed, it was meant to be a room for one of the prima donnas, or maybe a principal dancer. They found other arrangements, and it fell into disrepair. It will be on you to clean and do what you will with the things inside, but take care they do not leave this Opera House. Forgotten they may be, but that does not make them any less our property, and stealing will not be permitted.”  
“No! I would never.” she reassured.   
“Hm. Well, laundry is started on Saturday mornings, and can be picked up from noon that Saturday to Sunday evening, then it goes into lost and found for one week and you’re on your own to see to getting it back. You are certainly allowed to volunteer your time there, they can always use an extra hand since laundry is not their only job. There is a kitchen here, ask anyone and they will show you. You can use anything that is there, but you will be expected to contribute to replenishing what you use. The general rule is that if you finish something off, you should be the one to replace it. It leads to a lot of containers with half a serving left in it - do not be that person.” she paused long enough to give Ami a glance to make sure she understood. By this time, they had gone down a few halls, up more stairs, and found another hallway. 

“This is your room.” she said When they reached the end of the hallway, and handed Ami a key.  
Waiting but not receiving further instruction, she took the key and opened the door. A pile of long-forgotten paperwork directly to her left fell over and spread pages across the floor in a line. She followed the trail up with her gaze to find a beautiful dresser, behind which stood a full length mirror that went all the way from ceiling to floor, and on the opposite wall a medium sized bed with no sheets, though a woven blanket was thrown over the top. She turned back to the ballet mistress and tried to hide the fact that this task was going to be very daunting from her expression.

“Come.” she said again, and exited the room. To the left was another door, which she opened. “This will be your powder room, though very few people use it, it is still public, and you are not permitted to leave personal belongings about, or they will be placed in the lost and found or thrown away.” Filing this information away, Ami nodded. “I am sure the rest you will find out on your own.” She said, turning to go.  
“Madame Giry, I have a question. To - to get my interview, I talked with someone, and -” she was cut off by the elder woman’s.  
“And you got the job in the end. That is what it comes down to, and I recommend you not mention the rest. Put it from your thoughts, even. That is the best thing for it.” she advised solemnly, and this time she did leave, walking with a click-click-thump of heels and her walking stick.

Put it from my thoughts? Him, of all people? That was going to be easier said than done. She wondered who the man was, that all the people here seemed to know who he was and what had happened, and yet feared to dwell on it like the devil himself was the cause of her sudden employment. She rubbed her hands together lightly as she surveyed the room. It was cold in here, likely not connected to any source of heat. She would have to get a heating lamp, but there was nowhere to put it at the moment. She walked over to the bed, the blanket looked in good shape, but smelled a bit dusty. She folded it and set it on the bed, she would have to clean it before she felt comfortable sleeping there, as well as find sheets. The bed was much larger than hers at home, so she couldn’t bring those sheets, though she wouldn’t to begin with since they were her aunt’s property. 

She definitely needed to go back and gather her things, though, and she never even told her poor aunt of her plans. If she had, she was sure she would never have been brave enough to go through with them. Her cousin was either explaining or covering for her, she owed the poor boy a particularly good Christmas gift for all he’d done for her. She sighed lightly, sitting here daydreaming wasn’t going to get this room cleaned.

Three hours later, she fell back onto the bed and let the air leave her lungs in a whoosh. There was a pile of paper to be thrown out, and another that looked more important that she would give to a manager to sort through. Costumes and props were in one large trunk to bring to the costume mistress, and odds and ends in another to take to their various departments. She was utterly exhausted, but the room was clean and very nearly dust free. She hadn’t found sheets, not that she expected to, but she was now faced with that conundrum. She looked at the time. It was half past seven, and beginning to get dark outside. Not the time for a young woman to hire a cab alone and go face her aunt’s retribution. Tomorrow. She could do all that tomorrow. Speaking of, what were her next duties going to be? When would she meet the rest of the violinists?

A last sigh and she stood up, gathering the things for the costume department, and began her journey downstairs carefully. “Hello?” she asked from the open doorway, holding the trunk in both arms that now felt like noodles. “Anyone here?”  
“Yes, my dear, come on in! What can I do for you?” The costume mistress was a matronly woman with a bun and frilly apron. “Are those tails not staying up on the skirts again? I told them, I need good quality thread or you won’t get good quality results, but do they listen? Not to an old woman like me, no. And my husband is too busy with his own fights with Henri to bother with mine. Well, when Henri gets bad reviews he-” she finally broke off to finally look at Ami. “Oh! Come in, come in, please set that heavy thing down. You are no dancer at all, are you? Not that it's a bad thing, mind. I’m afraid I just get carried away too easily when I’m on my soapbox. What can I do for you, dear?”

Gratefully she let the trunk fall unceremoniously to the floor. “My name is Ami Prescott, I’m to be a violinist. I’m staying at a room here in the Opera, and there were some things left about I thought I should bring back.” she said, massaging her arms. She’d long since given up on her hair or dress. The woman reached down and picked up the trunk like it was empty, much to the surprise of Ami, and replied cheerfully.  
“How wonderful, it will be nice to have a musician that isn’t an old grump. And thank you so much for thinking of me, my dear. You’re welcome anytime, even if you don’t need a costume. I’m quite handy with fashion, not to toot my own horn. Been here long enough.” she said with a nod and a wink. Ami gave a sideways smile and small chuckle.   
“Right, I’ll keep that in mind, thank you. Could you direct me to the kitchen?” she asked, rather lost. 

More than that, the woman - Madame Amaline - led her there. She was starting to figure out her way around, and the costume mistress explained further. Everything that wasn’t the theater itself was rather small, and all located in the same area. All the amenities were on the first floor, the second was the ballet dorms, and she was on the third with other various rooms. She said all this while opening cupboards and pulling things out, directing Ami with a point to chop or mix something.

As they talked, or rather Ami listened, she realized she would grow fond of this woman, who was very helpful and very funny. It would be nice to have an ally here in the Opera House. After a meal and dishes, they parted ways, Ami’s stomach contentedly full. She made another trip downstairs to distribute what was left in her room. She met Madame Amaline’s husband as she helped him sort the things she brought down. He was in charge of props, so his office of sorts was a green room that was like a labyrinth of time periods. One last trip up and down the stairs and she certainly wouldn’t be getting lost on her way back to her room again, this time carrying the trash in one arm and paper for the manager in the other. 

Finally, it was nearly time to retire to bed, and she knew she was in for a night of sleeping in her shift and wearing the same dress on the morrow, but she still enjoyed the Opera’s running water greatly as she cleaned up after the long day of work. Wringing out her hair with a towel, she padded barefoot back to her room in her shift, ready to spread out the blanket and prepare for a night of cold.   
There were clean sheets folded on the end of the bed, along with two garments, a day dress and a nightgown. Blinking in surprise, she picked up the note, written in utterly awful scrawling handwriting that took her some time to decipher.

‘Miss Ami Prescott -   
Welcome to the Opera Garnier. Tomorrow morning you will be summoned just before lunch to meet your fellow string players, so it would be advised that you were awake and in clean clothing for the occasion. As you have not retrieved your own instrument, they will lend you one, so you need not leave the premises in a rush. Take these as a gift, the payment for which will be the music you will learn to play flawlessly.’

It was not signed. She read it over a few times, it had the brusque tone of Madame Giry, but knew it wasn’t the case, she would have brought them in person or told her when she last saw her. And when did they get in her room? Yes, she had left it unlocked - she walked to the door and locked it as she remembered this - but she had spent very little time away all considered. Had it been left while she was in the washroom, or had she not noticed in her determination to clean earlier? Maybe when she was eating? She wasn’t sure, and was too tired to puzzle over it. She just smiled, happy to have someone watching out for her, and made the bed which she sank into happily in a new nightgown.

She awoke twice in the middle of the night and again early in the morning, unused to a strange place. The last time she got up and dressed, and folded the note she had left on her bedside table. She put it in her armoire, she wanted to compare the writing to what she would see and figure out who had been so kind. For now, though, she ate breakfast downstairs alone and found the laundry room, giving them her shift and blue dress. They clucked over the dust, so she helped them mending ballet bodysuits until it was time for her to return to her room. She’d liked sewing lessons as a child, so it was nice to know she wasn’t going to waste the skill here. Three flights of stair later - she was going to be as in shape as the dancers soon - she sat at the dresser and reread her note. 

Madame Giry did come at exactly the time mentioned, and she shoved the paper into the drawer before answering the knock and standing. “Come in.” Madame Giry breezed in and looked around the room, nearly impressed. She gave Ami a nod of approval, which she was sure was worth more than most people’s compliments, and led the girl downstairs to meet her co-workers.

This time they crossed into the Opera territory, and Giry pointed out the stairs leading to personal boxes for visitors and the hall to backstage, which they took but went in the door to the right, rather than the left. In a room full of instruments and musicians, she was left alone. One man stepped forward and gave her a look that she knew was disdain. She ran over her appearance and could think of nothing that would be out of place.   
“Ah, here is the girl that got in on her looks.” He sneered.  
“Excuse me?” she gasped. “That isn’t true in the slightest!” she said, face turning red with both embarrassment and fury. Clearly, he wasn’t looking for any flaw other than the ones he imagined.  
“She looks a little different from the rest of the Parisian women and our manager is falling all over her, only the good lord knows how she convinced the good conductor.” He said, but made a lewd motion that had her hands balling into fists and a few of the other men chuckling.

A little different? Did he mean not blonde haired and blue eyed like was the style? He probably didn’t mean anything that had any logic behind it. “Well, charm us. Where is your violin?”  
“The-” she stopped, not wanting this man to know any more than he had to of her. Receiving notes from strangers would surely be made into another joke. “I was told you would provide one until I can get mine this afternoon.” she said, voice stiff as could be.  
“Oh, and now the girl doesn’t have an instrument. I’m sure she never even played for anyone, they just accepted her after she played another sort of game for them.”   
“I won’t stand here and take this.” she said, seething. “This is not how one treats a co-worker, and that is what I am.”  
“Obviously not, or you would know you need your own violin to join us. Go on back to your mother, girl, you’ve had your fun.” the man said, and turned away. There was some murmuring from the rest of the strings players, but none stepped forward to contradict him.   
“Excuse me, but-” she repeated, reaching out to grab his arm when he turned and slapped it away harshly. She touched the place less in pain and more in surprise. Their gazes met, and she knew she had no ammunition against him. What was she supposed to do? She couldn’t force her way in alone, they would just refuse to give her a violin or sheet music or something. She turned on her heel and left in a measured pace, not looking back lest they see her shining eyes.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our beloved basement gremlin is back, along with an OC Achille, who is important along with Edward. Again, I know as a reader I'm guilty of skimming parts like these, so it's possible to do so without missing anything huge - but there is a bit of character development there, so give him a chance, he's a sweetheart.

In her room, or rather, the room she cleaned for them for free, she roughly wiped the tears away. I won’t cry over this. I’ll be a violinist one day, then they’ll regret not taking me. she thought to herself, feeling more childish than confident. She wanted outside, but didn’t want to go on the busy streets while crying alone. Where could she go? 

She decided the balcony would be empty and it was secluded enough she could cry to herself in peace. She left her room and made it to the stairs at the other end of the hallway and paused. There were more stairs leading up, but these weren’t nicely carpeted in red like the others. And no one had mentioned a fourth floor on this side of the building. She took it on a whim, she had nothing much to lose. At the end of some dusty stairs there was a door, again unlike the others she had seen. Simply plain and peeling it’s paint. It was locked in that the handle didn’t turn, but she tripped forward as the door pushed open anyway. A broken lock? The door really wasn’t used often then. Luckily she caught herself on the door and brushed the paint chip and dust away on her dress and looked up. She blinked at the sudden light of - outdoors? 

Yes, that was a cool breeze she felt on her face, and she stepped up the last three now-concrete steps she appeared on a small, rectangular piece of roof, also concrete. It was surrounded with walls that she could just see over, down to the busy streets below. The only other things this high up were the statues that lined the edge of the building, all some kind of mythological figures. One offered a good place to sit down, and she promptly began to cry. 

This was everything she had wanted, she felt like she was on top of the world, a world where she could live doing what she loved, and it was all for naught. What had it been, a cruel joke? She knew logically that was silly, but she wasn’t in the mood for thinking things out. She should talk to the manager, he wouldn’t let this stand, but without a job he wouldn’t let her stay here anymore either and she didn’t want to hear the words -  
“What are you doing here?”   
No, that wasn’t it. He would tell her to go more kindly than that, but then, she wasn’t in the manager’s office was she? Yet the voice wasn’t entirely unfamiliar. “Crying.” she said in a dry tone as she placed it only a second later. It wasn’t one that was easily forgotten. The man scoffed, and she looked around and couldn’t see anyone.   
“I can see that. Why are you crying and not playing violin?” There was a note of incredulity to his tone that made her angry.   
“What do you want to hear?” she said, standing. 

She furiously wiped her eyes and felt her anger full force. “That I was foolish enough to believe it was all so simple? That they made fun of me and made cruel japes about my gender and now I’ll be packing my things and going? Well, I hope it was worth it.” she said, and managed to keep her voice steady.   
“How dare you accuse me of lying?” the voice came, and this time she spun around and saw a movement of fabric two statues down.   
“I see you there. Come out and tell me you weren’t playing a joke on me to my face and I might believe you. It doesn’t change the fact that somewhere along the way someone decided I wasn’t worthy of playing here, but you might clear your own name. Which I still do not know.” 

He ignored the last part, of course, but the figure stepped from the shadow since that play was over regardless. He looked much the same as he had at the dance, face almost fully covered, and even with a cape rustling in the wind. “I do not tell lies, and I do not like the accusation. I demand you take those words back.”   
She gave a sigh. “Fine. If you were telling the truth, I do apologize. But who lied if not you?”  
He paused. “When you met your fellows today, who did you talk to?”  
“I don’t know. He was older, and very pale, and missing most of his hair. I don’t even know if he was a violinist, but he was adept at telling sexist jokes.” she spat out.

“I see.” his words were ice, and his eyes flashed as he took another step out of his concealed spot. They were not so gold in the light of day, she noticed, more yellow, and more unnerving if truth be told. To see the anger that was in them made her arms get goosebumps. “I do not like people making a liar of me. You will have your place here, or rather, his place here. He will not trouble the Opera House any longer.”

Now she was slightly afraid. Madame Ameline’s thought about him being the devil himself suddenly seemed like it could be more real. She played with the hem of her dress. “I - I don’t want anyone hurt. I was just angry he turned me away. I should just tell the manager-” She told him, standing.   
“This is between him and myself. Go to your room, Ami Prescott. Wait an hour, then go down once more. They will be more receptive to you.” he said, and made to move away, when without thinking she reflexively stepped forward and caught his elbow. He stopped short, then turned to look down at her with a piercing gaze. She dropped her hand and gaze quickly.   
“I apologize. I just - thank you.” she said softly. He nodded once before turning and leaving without another word.

She still didn’t know his name. She sighed, taking the stairs and going into the washroom. She cleaned her face and redid her hair, not looking at all like she’d had an outburst. She sat down on the edge of the large tub and groaned, realizing how she had overreacted. There had been absolutely no reason to get so worked up, she knew she was going to face opposition and told herself she was ready for it, and yet when she actually faced it she just accepted it? If the masked man hadn’t been there to help her, she would have just up and left? Who was she? 

That was not Ami Prescott. Or at least, not the persona she pretended to be. Everything was so easy when it was happening in your head and you had time to think of everything. She worried her lip, standing when she knew it was time to see who the man had talked to. She was just lucky he had been there to help her - again - and she would definitely have to thank him. How she was supposed to find him was a mystery when Madame Giry seemed the only one who knew of him and refused to say anything. She shrugged at her reflection in the mirror and left the room. The stairs down felt suspenseful as she descended. 

The same man as before stepped forward, this time with a pinched expression stuck halfway between anger and fear. He handed her a violin, and she noticed his hand trembled a bit. There was a tense silence, she wasn’t sure if she was supposed to say anything but he looked like she was going to bite his head off at any moment. She lifted her gaze to the others behind him and they seemed to flinch as a collective. She took a slow breath. What on earth had the man told these people? She looked back at the man who handed her the violin. Her eyes slid back to the man.

“What is your name?” she tried for a calm tone, came across terse.  
“Alan Zacharie.” he said, and she nodded.   
“Well, Monsieur Alan, I believe we are here to practice violin?” she asked, and he gave an affirming noise. Or perhaps one of relief, she wasn’t certain.

This time, the conductor Monsieur Laurent was there, and he proceeded to usher them into seats and begin to talk about the upcoming season, Halfway through she remembered the masked man had told her Zacharie would no longer be there. Had he meant to fire him? Had he the power? 

As much as she enjoyed seeing him respecting her, she didn’t want to be feared. . . she would have to tell him that, as well. This was her battle to win or lose. She played well enough, and they broke for lunch. There was only one empty seat, next to a young man not much older than her with a mess of sandy hair. She nodded a greeting, and he inched nervously to the side when she sat down.

“I don’t know what exactly happened, but I’m not going to curse you if you touch me.” she said dryly.   
“Ah - no, of course miss.” he said, but didn’t meet her eyes. She sighed.  
“My name is Ami Prescott, violinist. And yourself?” she tried.  
“Achille Zacharie.” he said, more diminutively with each syllable.   
“Oh? That violinist’s son?” he nodded once. She almost sighed again. “I see. Look - do you know the man who talked to you?” she asked bluntly. He began stuttering.  
“No one does, really. I don’t - we can’t talk about it. He doesn’t bother us much if we play well, until you came, and then he left a few notes. . . it doesn’t matter.” he clammed up.   
“I’m here to prove myself as being a good violinist. I’m sure whoever it was won’t bother you again. Did you say notes?”  
“He leaves them sometimes, we rarely hear his voice. Thankfully.” he said with a shiver, looking around like he would be heard. She couldn’t argue, his voice was very powerful. She wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end of anything harsh from him.  
“I would see a note, where do they go?”  
“My father keeps them.”  
“Would you perhaps ask to read one? I would like to see it.” she asked politely. He looked at her like she was mad before ducking his head once more.  
“I could, I guess. I can give it to you tomorrow. I don’t know if I’ll mention who it's for, though. Not that-” he was about to begin to rant, she could tell.  
“Thank you, Achille.” she said with a smile. He reminded her that she missed her cousin, and decided after practice she would return to her aunt’s, and felt much more confident in herself the whole carriage ride there.

That was until she stood on the doorstep. The cab stopped just in front of the house, the driver caring for the horses while he waited. She raised her hand to knock. As her fist brushed the wood the door was opened, her upraised arm grabbed, and promptly yanked into a hug by her cousin, who closed the door with a loud thud and she was inside, the house smelling pleasantly of potpourri as it always did around this time. 

“Whatever happens, I’ll remember you fondly. And tell me - did you get the job?” Edward asked in a whisper.   
“I did.” she said with a wide smile. “I cannot thank you e-”  
“Ami Felice Prescott, I cannot believe you even considered entertaining your mad plan, and-” This went on for about five minutes, which were filled by her standing just a foot inside the door, her cousin taking a seat on the bottom stair to her left and watching in amusement and pity, and her aunt pacing back and forth in front of her. She couldn’t get a word in edgewise until her aunt finally paused to take a breath, when she explained in one sentence her piece, unable to feel too chagrined with her newfound determination.

“Auntie, I know that it was wrong of me to sneak away like that, and I know it was dangerous, and I could have gotten lost or killed or anything else, but I am fine. Better than fine. And I am going to stay at the Opera and play violin.” she told her aunt. Which prompted another lecture on good manners and behavior, but was too busy exchanging looks with Edward to pay much attention.  
Finally, her aunt stopped and looked at her, sighing deeply. “Oh Ami, how you have grown up. You were always so stubborn, but there’s something different about it this time. Or maybe I haven’t been paying attention to how you’ve grown so much.” she said, and Ami was enveloped in a hug. Smiling into her aunt’s shoulder she hugged back. “It isn’t what I would have chosen for you. . .or wanted. . .or approve of wholeheartedly. . .” her aunt started, and Ami pulled away with a groan. “But I am very proud of you. You are just like your mother at your age, so I can say you will do great things with that bad attitude of yours.” she finished, and Ami hugged her again with a sniff.

“Thanks auntie.”  
“Now, go get your things. Keep some things here. You’ll always have a home here.” her aunt said, and frowned. “And you’ll have to take an iron, your clothes are so wrinkled.” Ami laughed and Ed made his presence known by joining in, so she waved them off to find her what she apparently needed to take with her.  
Edward joined her upstairs to help her pack. “So. My dreams came true, have you seen. . .?” Ami said once the door to her room was closed.  
Edward shook his head. “He sent me a letter. A letter.” he began with contempt. “He had fun that night, but I wasn’t for him. I think I knew that, or I would be sad and not annoyed. But you? Find any men?” he said with a wink.

She laughed with a roll of her eyes. “You could say that, but not in a romantic way. I saw that masked man again, from the night of the dance. And a nice boy named Achille, he’s the son of a lead violinist, a real pain in the neck. The lead, not Achille. He’s shy, but our age, so I plan on befriending him.”  
“Of course, leave it to my cousin to force friendship on someone.” Ed said with a grin. “He won’t know what hit him. What about that masked man? I don’t like the idea of him. Who is he? What is his name?”  
“I don’t know, Ed. No one seems to know. I have an idea, though - there’s this rumor that goes around about a ghost haunting the opera. The musicians said it was just the dancers that thought that, but then they got a note. . .I am almost certain they’re the same person.”  
“You don’t think you met a ghost?” Ed said with a raised brow.   
“Of course not.” her aunt had made it quite clear what her belief on spiritualism and the occult was- utter nonsense. She had a tendency to agree. “I just think he might be using that story to his advantage somehow. I’ll investigate a bit when I get back.”  
“That is. . .worrying. I’m glad you told me. You will be careful, won’t you?” he asked her, looking her over for something. “He sounds dangerous. I wouldn’t want you alone with him.”   
“Oh, no, Edward. I don’t think he would ever do anything like that. He doesn’t seem to want to be anything but businesslike with me, and I might never see him again.”  
“It might be for the best.” he said. She nodded, but couldn’t help but disagree. She wanted to see him again and talk to him.   
“Maybe, but, oh I don’t know. He’s intriguing. Am I mad for wanting to talk to him?”

“Yes.” he said deadpan, and she was scared until he began to laugh. “I’m kidding. Of course you do, you always liked solving mysteries. But you do need to be very careful. You let me know if he even implies anything threatening and I’ll find him even if he is the devil. And I mean it, you can tell me anything, Ami.”  
“You’re the best family anyone could have.” she said, and gave him a huge hug. They packed her things, which included a few house supplies she was grateful for - even the iron - and she was soon getting back into the cab to drive off to her new home. She came to the Opera at dusk, so the light from outside cast orange squares onto the ground of the foyer, making it look almost like stained glass. She took a moment to admire the fact she lived here before going upstairs. It took a fair amount of time, lugging all of her new things. 

She unpacked and decided to go find Madame Amaline, who joined her in the kitchen for dinner. “How was your day, my dear?” she asked, pouring them both tea. She thought and decided to start looking into this note-sending business.  
“Very good, thank you. I had another meeting with someone, he wears a mask, I don’t know who he is but Madame Giry and the musicians seem very nervous about him.” she said with a frown, and looked over at the older woman when she didn’t instantly reply. She was white as a sheet, like she had seen a ghost. “Madame? Are you alright?”  
The woman shook her head and leaned in. “Be quieter, my dear. Was it a dark-looking man, with the devil in his voice that comes from nowhere?”

Ami wanted to defend the stranger, but the hairs on her arms raised as she realized they were, in fact, talking about the same person. “I. . .suppose.” she said slowly.  
She drew back like she was hit. “The Opera Ghost.” Ami bit her lip. That was as good as confirmation, but she wanted to know everything there was to know.  
“I’m sorry?” she asked for clarification.  
“Oh no dear, I am.” she said, and Ami thought that was a bit over the top, but wasn’t going to make light of the woman’s fear. “The Opera Ghost is infamous. No one knows who he was in life, but now he haunts this place, with as much power as the manager, and a fearful temper. He gets whatever he wants, or we would have dire consequences.” she leaned in again. “The previous manager just left recently, he retired. It was said he knew the spectre well, and they were on good terms. When he left and Henri came, he began to demand a salary! He does his fair share of work, all right.” she said with a shiver. “It is best we don’t talk about it again.” she said.   
“All right madame. Just one last question. What are the consequences you mentioned?”   
The woman shook her head. “We don’t want to find out. He’s sent messages in blood, and some people have left never to come back.” she said.   
“But was anyone. . .harmed? The ballet girls?”   
“Oh no. He has ejected many people who try. Perhaps he thinks of us as his property. Now, let's talk of something else.” 

They did, but she was distracted and excused herself to her room. She should have been getting ready for bed, and instead she found herself walking back up to the roof, pulling her jacket around her to protect herself from the cold. She sat at the foot of the statue, it looked to be Poseidon. It made sense, with the Apollo statue being a main feature of the rooftop on the other side of the building. She was there with a feeling like waiting until she felt silly for being there, and she retired to bed.

She spent the next day practising, helping more with laundry, and organizing her room. She checked off the box on the calendar she hung for the 5th. Strange to think so much had happened in three days. As she was walking back to her room from the washroom she turned and looked at the stairwell to the roof but shook her head. She was being silly. This whole Opera Ghost thing was beyond her control, and she would probably never see the man again.  
Yet the seventh was a Tuesday, and there was not much to do after she had said hello to Madame Amaline and practiced until her neck was sore. Even as she decided to go up to the roof she sighed. 

I’m just going because it’s nice outside. Not because I’m waiting to see some masked man with dark rumors around him. Or so she told herself.

It wasn’t entirely false, though. There was a constant noise of people around the opera house, which was fine, but it was good to get away sometimes and think as an individual again, not what was needed for the production. Outside she leaned on concrete wall and smiled up at the stars, ghost for the moment forgotten.

Until - “You are not crying.” the voice spoke, seemingly from the statue above her. She didn’t glance at it, instead looking around to see if she could find him.   
She gave up soon and instead sat at the base. “You could come out. I know you’re the Opera Ghost.” She said. “Whatever that means.” she muttered, picking at a loose thread on her skirt.  
“How do you know that?” he demanded.  
“I’ll tell if you show yourself and talk to me face to face.” At this, he began laughing, a cold, humorless laugh that seemed to surround her. She clenched her jaw as she drew her jacket closer. And there he appeared, or emerged, or whatever he did, from the same statue he was hiding behind, in, whatever, the other night.

“I assure you, that is something that will never happen.”   
She let out a huff of frustration. “What will you do if I tell you who revealed you?”   
“That is for me to decide.”  
“Monsieur. . .it could have been anyone. Even if no one told me, I would have learned soon enough. Certainly not long enough in the future to forget the person who gave me my dreams on a silver platter. It wasn’t hard to reconcile the rumor to you.”   
He seemed to scoff, but she couldn’t see any facial expression, so she wasn’t certain. “Perhaps. And yet you gave your word.”   
“I did.” she sighed. “Just don’t. . .don’t punish her for helping me. It was the costume mistress.” There was a pause and it seemed he wouldn’t respond. “Thank you, once again.”   
“For?”  
“Helping me yesterday, again. You’ve done so much.” A lightbulb went off as she remembered the gifts her first night. “You gave me those sheets and outfits. You got me my dream job, and you helped me when I completely overreacted to criticism instead of letting me fail.” 

There was a pause, the figure seemed to shift his weight. “You need not mention it again. You will be a good musician, that is enough.”   
“Not to me. I’ll find a way to pay you back some day. But I do have one thing I want to talk to you about.” she began with apprehension.   
“Oh?” He sounded curious.  
“Yes. In the future, I would like to fight my own battles.” she said with determination.   
Another pause, this one seemed cold, like his laughter. “I see. I will not bother you again, you owe me nothing.” he said, and made to leave. She blinked a few times.   
“That isn’t what I meant!” she called. “You won’t even listen to what I have to say?” 

He stopped moving, but was now facing away. She stood up and moved closer to his back - but not too close, some aura coming from him made her keep her distance. “I want to become someone because I have the skill and the determination and not because the opera ghost helped me into my place. That’s why I asked to be interviewed when I didn’t have to, and I shouldn’t have reacted like I did and let you talk to the conductor for me. I just. . .I didn’t really know how to deal with a problem. I’m grateful you did, because who knows what would have happened, but I’m saying if something like that happens again, I don’t want you to intervene. I have to accept the consequences of my actions now.” she told him, and struggled to find the right words. “I’ve always wanted my independence, and now that I have it I’m going to keep it, for better or worse. Do you understand?” she asked, hopeful.

After a few seconds he turned, and his golden gaze looked at her intently. “I believe I do. I shall take my leave.”  
“Wait!” she said. Her tone was frustrated and sounded more like a demand than a plea. She could have sworn she saw surprise on his face before it faded back into something she couldn’t decipher. “Sorry, that was rude. But what is your name? When will I see you again?”  
“Call me phantom, spectre, ghost - you know that now, as you pointed out. I should think you will never see me again.”  
“That isn’t a name. And why not? Is my company that bad? I would like to know the man who helped me so.”  
“To know the man.” he repeated, and gave another humorless laugh. “We shall see. Sleep, you have much practice ahead of you if your desire is to play well.” he told her, and this time she didn’t stop him when he left. It wasn’t until she was in bed for the night she thought she should take offense to his telling her she needed practice. Instead she snorted lightly, ghost or man, he wasn’t the best at talking.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Baby steps and a bit of fun are had!

Another week passed, where she made friends with Achille, volunteered to help with chores and the costuming department, visited her aunt and cousin, and played enough violin that her wrist hurt even though she learned how to hold it correctly, and her neck had a knot in it from resting her chin on the instrument properly. 

She wasn’t complaining though, in fact she was having the time of her life and played more than she had to. The conductor announced that there was sheet music for them all, and she returned to her room knowing in three months’ time, she would be playing in front of a thousand people. They would be focused on the acting and dancing, of course, but they still heard the music, and some came just for the instruments, she’d heard. She was understandably nervous, and found herself on the rooftop watching the sunset. She had been there a few more times, but never heard from the phantom. 

Until that night, when she turned and he was directly in front of her, like he had been casually standing there the whole time.  
Surprised enough to be stunned into silence, she managed to regain her composure without making a sound, although her expression was surely dumbfounded. “Monsieur.”   
“Mademoiselle.”   
“Oh, please call me Ami.” she said, and managed a shaky smile, shaking off the fright he gave her.   
There was a pause that seemed rather long, and she was about to ask why he had joined her when he responded, “Then you must call me Erik.”   
“Oh.” she said again, this time breathlessly, and smiled widely. “Erik, then.”   
“Indeed, but if I hear anyone else say the name, I shall know it was you who told, and you will find yourself unemployed once more.” He said evenly.   
Even though it wasn’t said as a threat she felt a chill at the thought of having to leave.  
She nodded slowly. Thinking about it, she wondered if she were the only person in the whole opera house who knew his name. Who was this man? For he was a man, and not a ghost. A man named Erik. How did he come to be here? She had so many questions. And she knew she could ask none of them. 

She wanted to know Erik, no matter how dangerous that might be. But it seemed he had never actually hurt anyone in the opera house before. Of course, no one had disobeyed his threats willingly. She simply couldn’t know his intentions. And yet she felt oddly safe in his company. There was a push and pull of curiosity and wariness. 

“I won’t tell anyone else, that’s a very solemn promise. Thank you, Erik.” she said. She was happy to be trusted with this very small victory. Well, it was small to her, but perhaps it wasn’t to him. “So, I assume you know that the first show of the new season is coming up?” She said, wanting to change the subject.  
“Of course I do.”   
She almost smiled at that. “I do have to wonder, what exactly does your job as a ghost entail? I haven’t heard any rattling chains around.”  
“Maybe you just were not in the right place at the right time.” he said, and this time she did smile. Was that a joke? He’d said it in such an even tone, but it had to be.

“Well then I will make sure to keep an ear open for any in the future. But you didn’t answer my question.”  
“No, I did not. In short, I make sure the fools do not get lax in their art, and far too many of them seem ready to do so.”  
“So to keep them playing at their best you make sure they are on their toes at all times?” He inclined his head in what might have been agreement. “Why not give them a reward when they do something right instead?”  
“Do you know exactly how many people are in the employ of the opera house?” She shook her head, though she imagined it must have been a lot. “Imagine, a singer is rewarded for her good job. The other singers now want a prize, and so do the dancers. When the musicians hear about it, they grumble because they have not been acknowledged before. Until even the set designers feel underappreciated and jealous, all because one person was rewarded.” he concluded. 

It was the longest she had ever heard him speak, and she found that his voice was beautiful, even in this casual conversation. It was never monotonous, painting a picture of what he was saying.  
“I see.” she responded, and she really did. She didn’t think that scaring them was the answer, but she knew what he was saying was true. “Erik, are you a singer?” the question came before she thought better of it.   
“I am.” He told her, pausing as if he hadn’t expected her question.  
“I mean it in a good way, rest assured.” she said with a smile. With a voice like that, it was obvious. Before, she had thought of a hundred different conversations to have, and now couldn’t think of any. 

She doubted Erik was one for small talk. She turned back to the balcony, looking out into the city below. “Do you think they can see us, if they looked up?”  
“People rarely think to look up. But no, we are hidden. If you are unsure, you can search to find this place when walking on the street below.”   
“I believe you.” she said. “I think I’m glad. It's like. . .no one would know if you were here or not. I’ve never had much privacy in my life and I really like the idea. Not that I’m complaining, I love my aunt and cousin, and the people here.” she rephrased her statement, Erik seemed like a man prone to jumping to negative conclusions.   
“I understand the feeling.” he agreed, looking out at the city. Seemingly to make up for agreeing he said rather darkly, “However, I would know you were here. There are few places that are hidden from me.” he turned his head to look at her. She supposed the mask left no room for peripheral vision.  
She smiled, trying to ignore how ominous that sounded. “I don’t mind if you know. It was your place first, after all. If anything I’m the intruder.”   
“I find that I do not hate your company.” He said, looking over the edge once more.  
She laughed lightly. “Well, it's a start. Hopefully after a few more conversations you can grow from not hating to actually enjoying.”  
“And yourself? There are other small alcoves to find, if you do not wish my company.”  
“I enjoy your company more than not hating. Its at least around the level of business acquaintances.” she joked, smiling again. 

He didn’t respond verbally, so she turned to watch the stars begin to peek out. “It's beautiful out here. I’m so happy.”   
“About what?”   
“Just in general. For once, everything is going well for me, and it's a nice night, and I get to call you Erik.” she said, leaning against the railing.   
“You are easily pleased.”   
“I am.” she agreed, not finding an insult in that. She didn’t think he meant it as one anyway, just pointing it out. She looked over at him, wondering what the mask hid. Was it so no one knew his face and could report it to a policeman? People didn’t see him much, so it could be a precaution just in case one did. But people thought he was a ghost, they were more likely to call a priest than the police. She bit her lip. 

But she knew he was a man, one named Erik, and what he generally looked like. She paled a bit as she realized that she could single-handedly get him arrested. If Ed had decided to talk to a policeman, for instance. But he told her anyway. Maybe the mask didn’t have anything to do with identity, and it was something else - but she couldn’t stop thinking about how much a name meant to him, and he surely knew it.  
“I would request you not stare so.” he told her, voice cool and tense. She blinked back to reality and realized she had been staring directly at his mask.  
“Oh! Apologies. I just realized. . . nevermind. Sorry, Erik.” she said, and realized it was getting late. “I should be getting to bed. I’ll see you another time?” she asked.  
“You might find me here, if you wished.”   
She nodded. “Alright. Sleep well.” she called, and left him there, his gold eyes following her path. 

Another few days later, she took a break from her daily comings and goings to have lunch with her aunt and cousin, and Ed returned with her to the Opera House. She even managed to convince the set manager to let her on the stage, since there was no show going on, and she pointed out all the different parts of it that she hadn’t known about before. They sat on the lip of it and started talking about what they were doing for Christmas when Achille and his father walked in. Edward quickly retracted his arm from around her shoulder and they slipped down with a smile. “Good afternoon, Monsieur Zacharie. Achille.” she greeted.  
“Afternoon. Remember, there will be an end of the month review tomorrow.” The elder Zacharie reminded her, looking at Edward like he was going to steal all her time away. She soon realized she thought he was a suitor who she was alone with, and smiled thinly. She could deal with that. 

“Oh, Edward here won’t keep me up too late, will you Ed?” she asked, sensuality practically dripping off her tongue. He caught on immediately, he recognized the name as the man who liked to antagonize her, she often complained about him to Ed. He opened his mouth, closed it again, and when he began his next sentence she knew from the look in his eye it was going to be good.  
“But my dear, you’re the one that keeps me . . .up.” the ‘if you know what I mean’ was heavily implied, and she just barely managed to keep a straight face. Her effort in restraining her laughter made her face red, which could easily be taken as a blush for other reasons. Achille’s jaw was now on the floor and he was making no effort of picking it up, and his father simply sputtered before turning on her heel and stalking away, the reason he came here apparently not important enough to see through.

The door closed and both cousins began laughing until she had to stop to breathe. They decided to fill Achille in. “We’re cousins.” she explained, and when horror crossed his face and Edward began laughing she took a deep breath to elaborate. “We were just messing around, we aren’t together in any way, of course. I figure that if your father must hate me, it might as well be for something that isn’t even true and let me get a laugh out of it.”  
“Oh.” he said. “I was worried for a moment there.” he cracked a smile. “I shouldn’t find that as humorous as I do. Well, until he decides to come back to get me, may I join you?”

The three had a good time until Achille’s father came back, and Edward decided it was time to leave. She left with him, partly for the humor and partly because he’d offered her dinner with their family. Her uncle was home, and the whole family sat down and talked about Christmas plans. It looked like everyone would be going to a party her aunt’s friend was holding, so she was told to be at the house before noon on the 24th. She made a mental note, and left feeling pleased with the way the whole month had come together. When she came back to the Opera, she went to the roof for a few moments before heading to bed. She found Erik there, and smiled at him.

“You have a review tomorrow.” he said before she could greet him.  
“I do, but it isn’t that late yet. I’ll get plenty of sleep.” she reassured him. She was nervous about it, she definitely wouldn’t forget to get as much rest as possible.   
“Do you not think it would be more prudent to practice than cavort with your lover the day before such a review?”

She stopped mid-stride on her way to the statue base. Had he been watching the stage? No, surely not, or he would have said cousin. He clearly believed that they were suitors. She narrowed her eyes. “Honestly, I think how I spend my time is best left up to me. We will know tomorrow, won’t we?” he didn’t respond. “In the future, I would appreciate a modicum of trust that I know my own art.”   
“I would have thought so, until what I heard your conductor telling the manager.”   
“Zacharie? You had to talk to him once before for the incident when I first found this place. Don’t you think he still has it out for me? I’m certain he told the manager many things, and I’m sure the manager either doesn’t care or takes them with a grain of salt. A trait I would have thought you would share.”  
“You say he was lying, but you do know what caused him to speak to Henri?”  
“Yes.” she said simply, crossing her arms. “And if you heard that, you might also have heard how much I improved from the conductor. Though surely Zacharie will say I’m simply terrible.”  
“Then perhaps you should play for me, so I will have proof you are not the liar.” A look of hurt crossed her eyes. 

“Fine.” she said stiffly, and went to get her violin. If only Erik wasn’t so infuriating she would have just stormed away, but this relationship was so tentative. And she did still owe him. Anger was replaced by determination. Erik was waiting when she came back, and she stood in position. “Give me the cue.” He counted her off and she began to play, bow rushing over the violin as she played her heart out, wanting nothing more than to be perfect so he could say nothing.

“Not bad.” he told her, once the piece she would be playing tomorrow was done. Not bad? That was one of her best run throughs! “You need to breathe properly, but I’m not surprised they don’t teach that to musicians. You stand well, but slouch as time goes by. Make sure to stand well the entire time, I don’t want you passing out because your knees were locked too long. You press too hard with the bow when the tempo increases, you lose some of the richness of the sound. The rest will come with time.” 

The rest? That was rather a lot, wasn’t it? But it was all technical, she noticed.   
“But the notes themselves?” she pressed.  
“Executed well. However, I am stricter than that.”  
“I can tell.” she muttered, drawing a sharp look. “I will work on the rest, but how am I supposed to learn how to breathe differently? Or the other things you mentioned?” 

There was a pause. “Would you be opposed to having me as a teacher? Keep in mind I will not hold back my criticism.”   
She was so surprised she almost dropped her bow. “You would teach me?” she asked.  
“A mere suggestion. Think no more of it.” he said coldly.  
“You don’t want to, then?” she asked, disappointed and confused.  
“I will not teach an unwilling student.”   
“I don’t understand! Is this about earlier today? I’m not giving up my social life entirely, but I would be a good student. I would practice anytime you told me, and I would take the criticism well enough.”  
He looked at her for a long moment, and again she wanted to see his expression under the mask. “I understood your inquiry to mean you did not want to be a student.”

She sighed, part relief part exasperation. His jumping to conclusions was going to give her whiplash. “You can’t assume things like that. I know that you will be a much better musician than I am, I didn’t want to bother you with a learning student.” she said. “Anyone who wouldn’t want you as a tutor might be mad.”  
“Anyone who does would also be mad.” he told her, and she smiled.   
“Probably. I’ll find out, won’t I? If I can be your student.”  
“I suggest we start immediately then, so I know you will not strangle your strings when your speed increases.” 

His voice turned into that of a teacher, and she fell into the position of student well. He paced as he spoke, or used gestures, and the way he talked about music was impressive.   
Three run-throughs later, he kept mentioning she was lacking something. “How am I supposed to know what I’m missing?” she finally blurted out in frustration.

A pause. “You are correct. That would be unfair of me - give me the instrument. I will show you.” She happily turned it over to him, and prepared to listen closely. He drew himself up, and lifted the violin to his chin. She drew in a breath at the figure that stood before her, and when he began to play she thought she might be dreaming. There was such a change that she could hardly concentrate on his music, until it actually began, and then she thought that if someone came and ran around her screaming she wouldn’t notice them, she was so drawn in. Beyond that, though, she did hear what she had been missing, and knew she could try to implement it. A few seconds after the music stopped she realized it had and shook her head. “My apologies. I should have told you of my music.”

She swallowed hard. “That was beautiful.” she said softly. “Can one ever learn to play like that, or were you just gifted?”   
“I did have a uniquely advanced talent when I first picked up the violin, but there is much skill involved. If ever one could match my skill, it would be one such as you.”   
Her mouth opened and closed. “I don’t understand. I’m honored, but I don’t understand why I’m any better than the others.”  
“Determination. Passion. Appreciation.” he listed. “Now, play it again, and then it is time for you to rest.”

She took a deep breath, and when she tried to emulate his playing she knew she was failing. She paused with a frown. “Do not copy me. That isn’t the point. You will find your skill on your own.”  
She nodded, she understood what he was saying if not how to actually put it into action. She tried again, and this time, she knew she did much better. She drew her bow away with a wide smile, and looked up at her tutor in suspense.   
“That was well played.” he said simply, and she let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding.  
“Thank you!” she said. “For everything. I have one more thing to thank you for, now. Tomorrow, after the review. . .will you be here?”   
“If you wish it.” 

“I do.” she affirmed, and wanted to do something, hug him, shake his hand, but she refrained. Instead she gave him a look that she hoped made sense to him and whispered, “Sleep well, have good dreams.” She then practically fled down the steps, retiring to bed with his music in her mind.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ami and Erik keep dancing around each other, but something is going to have to give sooner or later.

She played phenomenally. She knew the conductor had been maliciously gleeful, thinking she would make a mistake, but she didn’t miss a note, she didn’t press her bow too hard - or at least he didn’t notice if she did - and she played from the heart, imagining she was playing to Erik. 

The others were impressed, too, and Achille came to shake her hand after. “Someone is certainly going to take notice when you play like that on performance night. The next part of the music is going to be given out tonight, do you want to come read it over with me and some friends on the stage? We always meet up before we break for Christmas. We’ll have finger foods, and you can, uh, invite your cousin if you want.” 

The thought did sound appealing. It would be good to make friends around here. But she honestly would much rather see Erik. “Thank you, Achille. I would like to, but I’m going to be elsewhere tonight. Perhaps another time, that does sound like fun.”   
“Sure! That’s okay. We meet up after our shows too.”   
“Thanks, Achille.” she said, and tried not to make it seem like she was anxious to leave as she excused herself and went to the roof.

She saw Erik and didn’t hide her grin. “That was wonderful! The look on Monsieur Zacharie's face was a blessing.”  
“You did very well, I have never heard you play so expertly.”  
“It's all thanks to you, really.” she told him truthfully. “You’ve helped so much.”   
He looked away, and said, “One thing to keep in mind when rehearsing, if you play one thing too many times over it can all begin to sound bad, or good, and you lose perspective. You have mastered the first part, I recommend not playing it again until you have mastered this part as well, and in between then playing other pieces to keep you fresh. I brought something that contrasts the mood of your piece.” he told her, and handed her sheet music.

The handwriting was in red ink, and in a scrawl she recognized as barely legible in words, but was oddly neat forming music symbols. She read it over, playing it through in her mind. It was soft, like the lullaby she played that first night.

“Who is the composer?” she asked curiously. There was something unique about it.  
“Myself.” he told her.  
“You play and compose violin music?”  
“Piano and vocals as well, particularly opera.” he confirmed, in a tone that told her he actually wasn’t bragging.   
“But that’s amazing! This piece is too. I’ve always loved things like this, they feel like. . .” she wanted to say home, but that was silly. “Comfortable.” she amended.  
“Thank you.” he said with a nod. He produced his violin, offering it to her. “I didn’t think you would bring yours, so I took the liberty.”  
“You’re amazing, Erik.” Ami told him seriously. 

She took the beautiful piece carefully, and played the piece through once to get the feel for it, before he told her to stand and play it for him to critique. This type of music flowed through her more easily, and she actually felt herself get the chills as it ended. 

He looked almost impressed. “This piece suits you.”  
“I love lullabies and traditional songs, folk ones that tell stories. I always have.” she said with a smile. “Do you have a favorite type of music?”  
He shook his head slightly. “All music to me is as important as breathing.” The confession dropped from him like simple fact, perhaps he did not realize how much it said about him, or perhaps it was part of the persona he surely projected.  
“If you had to choose one type?”  
“That would never happen, but if I had to, I suppose symphonies.” 

She nodded, the classics seemed to suit him well. “Ah, there is something I forgot. The door you use to enter the stairwell here is fixed. It would be best if you lock it, I would prefer if this place stayed well hidden. Here is a key - do not lose it.” he told her, handing her a small bronze key.   
“Thank you. I suppose I shouldn’t ask where you got this?”  
“It would be best not to know.” he said. 

She laughed lightly, hoping he had just pilfered it from a desk somewhere. “Will there be another lesson tonight?”  
“Not tonight, so soon after your review. Would two days’ time be acceptable?”  
“It won’t, actually.” she said, her face falling. “Christmas plans and all.”  
“I see. I assume you will be seeing your suitor this week as well?”

Her - oh. She had never corrected Erik about what the conductor had said. She began to laugh, but she stopped with a glare. “I don’t have a suitor, Erik. That was my cousin, Edward, and we were just playing around to provoke Zacharie. I’m sure whatever he said was a lot worse than what actually happened.” she said, still smiling.  
“You should not provoke him like that.”   
She shrugged lightly. “Maybe not. It won’t happen again, it was spontaneous.”   
“So long as your spontaneity doesn’t get you fired.” he told her evenly.  
She paused, worried now. “That. . .wouldn’t happen, would it?” she asked quietly.   
“No. That would not happen.” he said after a moment.  
“Okay, you made your point then.” she said, drawing her jacket around her shoulders. “It’s chilly out here, isn’t it?” she wondered if it would be too cold to practice here, and looked at Erik. “We can find somewhere inside to practice, right? You said there were lots of hidden alcoves, if you wouldn’t mind sharing one with me?”   
“We shall see when the time comes.” he told her, and she let the subject drop with a frown. "You should rest, you had a long day."

Ami gave him a sideways look. "Are you trying to get rid of me?" She asked in a joking tone, but she wasn't entirely sure that wasn't exactly what he was up to.   
"No, I am not. I believed you would be tired."  
She shook her head. “Not too much. When I am, I’ll go to bed on my own. Of course, if you did want me to go I wouldn’t be offended. I don’t know what exactly your, er, ghostly profession involves, but I can't imagine babysitting me would be part of it."

He looked over at her, mulled over his words like he did so often before responding - "Is that how you see our encounters?" The tone was so even, but even she could see right through that.  
'No! It isn't. I thought you would think that."  
"I offered you lessons which you accepted - I would not have done so if your worries were true." Though he was stating a fact, she felt reassured.   
"You're right. I hadn't considered it well. Erik. . .what do you do outside of us talking?"   
"Many things." 

She sighed. "I know that much. If you don't want to tell me, just say so, but you don't have to distract me."   
He nodded once, there was a pause and another nod. "Wiser words than you know. A true answer, then. I watch and listen. To the players, the dancers, the singers. I know what to look for in all of these. I make sure they are performing at their best, because it is a quick descent into laziness. If something goes wrong, I make sure it gets fixed efficiently. Often that involves educating the managers on how to do their jobs properly."  
"I can imagine that would be a full time job. And thank you for telling me. What about your music?"  
"Ah." He said, and perhaps he sounded lighter when talking about it. "I do not say something and do the opposite. I play every night, lately more on piano then violin. I am thinking of writing a piano piece."  
"That would be wonderful! When you do, I would like to hear it, if you don't mind."  
"Perhaps. We shall have to find a time when there is no one around to hear the piano in the ballroom."  
"Wait. Where do you play, if not that piano? Under the stage?"   
"My instruments are in my abode." She gave him a look that clearly asked for more details. "I will not tell you where that is. Not right now."

She took that to mean 'maybe later,' and smiled brightly up at him. He adjusted the cuff of his sleeve, not meeting her eyes.   
"Thank you for the talk, Erik. I will see you again soon?"  
"You might. Remember to lock the stairwell door."  
"I will." She told him, and did so before retiring to bed.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More of a transition chapter, but we're getting to the good stuff!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Betcha expected Christmas fluff, huh? Well, I did too but they weren't ready for it just yet.  
> Anyway, you know that tag plot what plot? We need to create the tag 'Victorian social etiquette, what Victorian social etiquette?'

Christmas and January flew by, with the production. She would always remember the first night she played in front of a crowd like that. After Erik’s pointers, it felt as easy as practice. It wasn’t until after, when she realized that many people had actually heard her that she froze up. Achille had to drag her off to celebrate with the rest of them. 

“Good job.” he told her, and she snapped out of it.   
“Thanks. That was. . .incredible. You did amazing too.” she said honestly. He smiled shyly, and nodded behind her to indicate there was someone there. It was Edward, and she threw her arms around him. “You made it!”   
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world. I’m so proud of you. You should have seen mum’s face. She was on the verge of tears the whole time, and dad was focusing on the musicians and glaring at the prima donna because she was so loud.” Ed said. Ami giggled, picturing just that.   
“You weren’t the usual opera goers, I’m sure.”  
“No, but we did like the show. We’ll be at any others you’re in, you can count on that.” 

She hugged him again. “Now, Achille, help me tell him all the gossip on the others here.” she said, noticing how he was just on the outskirts. She could imagine being the youngest here except her would be a problem for events like this. Achille smiled, and she let him point people out to her brother. She also noticed how Achille blushed every time he leaned close and an idea in her mind sparked.

She was still considering how to play matchmaker when Monsieur Zacharie made his appearance, pinched as ever. He looked particularly pained when he saw her, but approached her and said, “You did surprisingly well.”

Why was everyone surprised when she did well? She looked back at him unimpressed, but it was just after Christmas, and she liked being the bigger person, so she smiled with all the charm her aunt taught her. 

“You are too kind.” she said graciously. He looked suspicious, but she continued, “Did you have a nice Christmas?”  
Polite society upbringing took over. “Yes, thank you. It is always good to spend time with family.” he said, and seemed to mean it. She nodded in agreement. Well, at least he was nice to Achille. “I agree completely. My aunt, Madame Prescott, always attends a larger party on the day of Christmas, but Christmas Eve is for just the closest people.”  
“Prescott. . .is your aunt Emma Prescott?” Zacharie asked in realization. Ami nodded. “Paris is small after all. My wife Mary is a close friend.”

Ami’s eyes widened. “You’re right. I’m surprised I didn’t make the connection, I saw her this Christmas at the party.” Ami looked over to Achille. “That explains the wonderful curls.” she said, and Zacharie softened a bit. She internally danced. Progress.

“Yes, I hear no end of them at home.” He said. A viola player approached so she waved him off before she could ruin it with a misplaced comment. Achille and Edward made their way to her. “That looked civil.” Ed said. She grinned. “It was. Slowly everyone will fall to my charms.”   
“Yes, you’re so charming.” Ed said dryly.  
“And graceful.” she added.  
“You almost hit yourself with your violin after that performance.” Achille countered, and she put her hands on her hips, but Ed began laughing and she had to join in. 

“You’re all so rude. That’s it, I’m retiring to bed. You’ve damaged my nerves.” She said. They both laughed more, but did make their way to the foyer to see Ed off. Achille went back to the festivities, and Ami made her way to the roof for the first time in a week.

Erik was there. A grin grew on her face. “Erik, I did it! I didn’t even strangle my strings.” she exclaimed. “Right?” she clarified.  
“You did not, you played very well. More performances like that and you will make your way to first violin in very little time.”   
Her jaw dropped. “Me? But seniority, and I’m so new-”  
“And this opera is run on skill, not age. I see to that.”   
She bit her bottom lip. “That would be amazing. Thank you so much for all your help, Erik. Will we practice more soon?”  
At that, she got what must have been a smile. She grinned back. “Soon. Take a week off, your muscles with thank you.” 

She sighed, but nodded. “Well, I’ll be up here in the evenings anyway. If you’re here too.” she said, and left, the feel of his gaze on her back. 

Time passed until mid-February came and she saw Erik sporadically at best. She knew enough to practice on her own now, so when she played for Erik it was mostly to make sure she was still on the right track. She didn’t know how he knew what to tell her, but she was making steady progress. She kept plenty busy, though. 

Now that she was on her own schedule she liked to tour the city. She was getting to know the other musicians better, and she and Achille would often explore the city together. She almost always got Ed to come along and let the boys talk, she was happy to just explore. 

Still, she visited the roof in the evenings, though for less time since it was so cold outside. Mostly just to check if Erik would be there. She wondered what he thought of her checking like that. She felt too embarrassed to ask, even though he likely didn’t care one way or another. She’d picked up a magazine one of the ballet girls had left on a table and was flipping through it on the roof while laughing. It was so dramatic, although she would be the first to admit she tore out some of the recipes to use. 

She didn’t notice Erik until he was looming next to her, either because he sneaked up on her or because she was too engrossed in the astrology section.   
“I didn’t take you for someone that would believe in astrology.” He announced his presence.   
“You are going to give me a heart attack.” she exclaimed. “And it’s just for fun. Like listen to my horoscope - “In the coming month, expect great things. Of course something good will happen to me in the span of the month, they could say that to anyone.” She said with a laugh. “What’s your zodiac?”  
“I haven't the slightest idea.” He sounded pleased about that.

“When is your birthday?” She asked. He paused like he was contemplating this.  
“In four days.” he concluded. She jerked upright. “What? Bad horoscope?” he asked sarcastically.  
“No, I just didn’t know that. Obviously. Do you celebrate?”  
“Certainly not.” he sounded like he was above the idea. She relaxed, she wouldn’t feel bad for getting him a last minute gift then.   
“Well, we should have a lesson so I can say happy birthday anyway.” she said hopefully.   
“If you wish. February 18th.”  
“Right. That would make you an aquarius. Huh, wouldn’t have expected it.”   
“That’s because astrology is foolish.”   
“Now that’s just mean. It’s based on some science, isn’t it? And people use the stars for real science all the time.”   
“Navigation and climate, certainly, but not personality. I can’t see how stars would influence someone.” he said.   
“Well, maybe it’s nature and nurture. Astrology is nature but nurture is more important?”  
“I have never studied it myself.” he said, but it wasn’t an outright dismissal so she smiled. 

“Have you studied the stars for other things then?” she asked him, setting aside the magazine. He looked surprised she asked. She gestured to the statue next to her but he remained standing.   
“Enough to know the constellations. The North Star, of course, is the most important. It was a guiding force for generations, and is still used by sailors today.” he began.  
“How is that, what makes it special?” She asked. She knew it was for navigation, but not how.  
“It is a fixed point.” he told her, and began explaining further. 

The development of instruments, the measurement of the earth using the stars, he knew all about it. And he was so fascinating to listen to. She loved learning in this way, a conversation rather than a lecture. He never sat down, but his posture did relax some.   
When night fell and it was time for her to get to bed she stood slowly and stretched some. “I need to get some sleep. Tomorrow you should tell me more about the constellations. I’ve never been able to see them.”  
“Tomorrow is your first recital for the new production. You should be practicing.”   
Her eyes widened. “I almost forgot. That’s right. I’ll be doing that.’  
“The day after, perhaps?” he offered and she smiled.   
“Yes, I can do that. I will see you then.” she said, and made her way to bed. Now to figure out what to get Erik as a birthday present. 

The next day after recitals found her browsing the shops of Paris for a gift. Unfortunately, everything felt the same. There was nothing really unique about anything she could get him here, and with a frown she wandered into the smaller business section. She liked these better herself, there were homemade goods and knick-knacks around. She ducked into one store without focusing on what it was. What to get him? A book came to mind, he seemed to be well-read, but she didn’t know what kind of thing he really liked. Shaking her head she looked up. It was a consignment store, filled with everything imaginable in very disorganized piles.

“Welcome my dear, I see your daydream is over.” the shopkeeper said, a woman wearing a huge faux fur scarf. “Don’t tell me, shopping for a gift? I know that look. What are their interests?”  
Did ‘seemingly everything’ count? “Uh, music. Particularly piano and violin. He wouldn’t need an instrument, though.” she said.   
“I have just the section, follow me! Is this man family, or something more?” she said with a sly glance in her direction, and Ami felt her cheeks warm.   
“Oh, nothing like that!” she insisted.   
“Hm, we shall see. Your eyes sparkled when you talked about him - if he isn’t your suitor now, you might drop some hints, yes? Yes. That’s all up to us women, you know. Men are as observant to feelings as a brick, they need help, poor dears.” she said, as if that was decided, and stopped suddenly, barely avoiding knocking over a pile of books. “Here we are. These are old things, they have been here too long. You’ll get a good price.” she assured, and left to greet another customer. 

The things did seem to be old, but well taken care of. Nothing caught her eye right away, but she almost slipped on something, and crouched down to pick up the hazard, only to discover blank music sheets. There was a large stack, and a few had pieces already written. The rest were blank, and she found the ribbon that was supposed to bind them. The edges were gold, and looking at them she knew it was meant for Erik. Browsing the store at large, she found a nice writing set which she purchased as well, and when she returned to her room that night she stuck the things in a bag with tissue paper for Erik.

The woman was so silly, thinking she liked Erik like that. She laughed to herself as she wrote his name on the bag and stuck it under her bed.

“It is absolutely freezing up here.” Ami said when Erik was waiting for her on the roof after recitals. “There was snow this morning, and the railing is all iced over already.” She said, huddled in a large jacket. Erik looked at her and the corner of his mouth twitched upwards. She muttered, “s’not funny. How are you not freezing?”  
“I am cold, I just don’t see the need to voice it.”   
“Uh, usually so the situation can be remedied? Is your house this cold?” she asked. “Do you live in a house?” she continued boldly.  
He didn’t seem offended. “I live in the Opera House.”  
She thought about the layout she knew well by now. “Where?” she asked in surprise.

He looked away, over the railing. Less people were outside in the chill. “Underneath it. In the lowest basement.”  
She nodded. She knew there were basements where they stored things and kept the horses and so on, but she’d never been there herself. Most people never did even when they worked here, so she’d forgotten about them. It made sense that he would reside there, as much as anything he did ever made sense. “It’s cold down there too, I suppose?”  
“Not at all. There is a fire going as we speak.”   
“I don’t suppose. . .” she trailed off hopefully, but didn’t know if she wanted to finish that question. Her knowledge of the masked man remained at ‘smart, named Erik, is also the Opera Ghost’ and she didn’t want to cross any lines. He seemed to have understood what she meant though, and seemed to be frowning.

“Why would you not just ask to go to your room?” He questioned. Which wasn’t a no, exactly.  
“Because there is no heater or fireplace there. And because I would like to see yours.” she said. After a few seconds she decided to backtrack, “But my room would be fine, and-”  
“You’re quick to allow yourself to be alone with a strange man in his home.” he said, ignoring her. She was more relieved than annoyed.   
“How are you strange when we’ve known each other for three months? Alright, don’t answer that. But the point is that you are familiar by now. And it’s not like your home would be any more secluded than this roof, if you had ill intentions. So I trust you.”   
“You trust me.” he said dully. She nodded. “More fool you. You have no idea what I am capable of.”

If possible, she felt even colder and drew her jacket around herself. Erik seemed to notice and stepped back once like his proximity was the problem. She frowned. “Erik, it’s obvious to me that I don’t know the first thing about you. I am more than willing to learn, but don’t act like you’re some malevolent ghost around me. I know you’re bluffing, you wouldn’t hurt me. I’m the one that wants to go to your home, you’re not luring me down there with magic powers.” she said, closing the gap again. 

He didn’t step back again but was quiet for a long time. She wished once more she could see his expressions and not just his mouth.   
“Follow me, then.”  
Ami grinned. “Okay, let me just go and get something quickly.” she said, and darted towards her room before he could say anything. Grabbing his present and her violin, she returned to the roof. “Thank you, Erik.” she said breathlessly.  
"Hm." Was all he said for awhile, and they began to walk. In what she had thought was just a statue, he pushed something aside silently to reveal stairs, much steeper than those she was used to, and only the top three were visible before it became too dark to see.   
"Ah. . ." She began, "not that I dislike the dark, but I might very well break an ankle."  
"I will guide you, I can see fine." She didn't see how that was possible, but wasn't about to revoke her trust. 

Uncertainly, he held an arm out to her and she took it. There was a pause as he looked at the joining of fabric, and she was about to ask what was wrong when he stepped forward. He went slowly, taking two steps at a time and turning to show her exactly where to step. A few steps in she got the hang of it and they could descend together, though she still tightly held his arm. At the bottom he reached out into blackness, and with a flourish he was holding a torch in fire in one hand while she was still on his arm - and miraculously still gripping her present for him.

"Impressive." She said with a grin. He dipped his head in acknowledgement.  
"I am something of a magician. Perhaps I shall show you." He said in a tone that suggested banter.  
"But I thought magicians never revealed their secrets?" she teased back.  
"Only false ones." He told her, and she chuckled.   
"If you're a magician, you can guess what is in this bag! If you're right you can see before evening." It was always her tradition to save gifts for after dinner.   
He eyed it critically. “Music supplies.” Her eyes widened. “Did I guess correctly?”  
“Well. . .yes, actually.” she muttered. “You didn’t peek somehow did you?”  
“Not at all, I am simply very good at educated guesses. It is a learned skill, if you are interested.” he told her. “But first, how do you fancy a boat ride?” She was spared asking for clarification when they rounded a corner and Erik put the torch out with another flourish, putting it somewhere she didn’t see due to being utterly blind once more. “There is light here, your eyes will adjust.” she was about to say there clearly wasn’t, when she squinted and could see a glow far off. A few moments later and she could distinctly tell there was a line of lights, and beyond it, water.  
“Are we under the Opera House?”  
“We are.”   
“And there is water here?” he gestured to the lake. “I suppose that was redundant. But. . .I’m no architect, but how does the place even stand up? Are we all going to collapse one day because the ground is wet or something?”

She heard a noise she realized was a chuckle from Erik. “Thankfully no. I am an architect and could explain further, but to put it simply the builders accounted for the waterways once they found them. Some is directed elsewhere, and there are plenty of supports. It also inspired an abundance of passageways that have since been forgotten about by all except myself.” and yourself was her unspoken thought. She smiled, knowing that he for some reason trusted her as well. As he turned to the water again his eyes seemed to gleam like a cat’s and made her shiver. It was just the reflection of the light, but the color sparked one’s imagination.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fun on Phantom Island (trademark), or, Erik doesn't know what social skills are.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've read and nitpicked at this chapter, and I still am not sure if I like it or not. Hopefully you do, because it's important!

The boat ride there was something that seemed to happen very quickly and very slowly at the same time. Erik’s dark clothing and mask meant he was completely cloaked in darkness as he left her side to prepare the small vessel, and she only saw him when he turned and she could see his golden eyes and silhouette of a face, an image that would have been absolutely terrifying if she did not know who it was. She could imagine that those that saw him only as the Phantom were justified in their fear. As it was, she just sighed in relief at knowing where she was standing and took his hand, climbing softly inside and making herself comfortable. Once she was situated, Erik took a long pole and pushed them to the other side. Along the way she saw the few lights that she had seen from the bank up close, and saw they were candles, their light reflecting on the water and the boat. She felt something in her stir when she looked up at Erik in firelight, his gaze focused on the water in front of them, and attempted to resolutely ignore it.   
At a small set of stairs he tied the boat to a post and secured the pole in a small holster in the gravel, then turned to help her out. “That was absolutely beautiful. Talk about a home with a view.” she remarked, and he led her inside, opening the door for her. She wasn’t sure what she had been expecting. Gothic black furniture and cobwebs everywhere, perhaps? But that was not the case. There was a fireplace crackling brightly - and she would have to remember to ask how on earth that worked - and the room seemed to be a living space, not too large but not cramped. It was spotless as far as dirt went but comfortably lived-in, with a pile of books next to a coffee table, a loveseat and armchair, and many more candles. Her eye was immediately drawn to the grand piano that was the feature of the room and the neat piles of music sheets there. Off to her left there was a hall, perhaps to his room and the kitchen.   
Erik had been observing her silently as she stood just inside the doorway, gaping. “Is everything in order?”  
“Oh! I’m sorry, I’m just so surprised that such a place would exist. It’s absolutely lovely, so quiet and peaceful, a little island of music.” she said honestly. It was also strange, but not in a negative way, so she stayed silent lest he think she didn’t like it.  
“I am pleased you think so. Could I offer you tea?”  
“I would love some.” she said, and he disappeared into the hall, turning right at the first door, which must mean the kitchen. She set her things on the piano seat and took a look around the room. Some of the books - at least half, really - were not written in French. The majority of those were not even in letters she knew, which meant he knew not only a second language, but a third. And he’d mentioned being an architect? Not to mention being a composer and musician, and who knew what was written in those books. Erik couldn’t have been that old, not much older than her. He was a genius! So why would he not be world famous? A household name? He didn’t seem used to conversation, but wasn’t bad at socializing. He looked every part the gentleman - except the mask. It seemed to come down to that a lot, she noted with a frown. Was it to hide his identity? She somehow doubted it now, after being in his home without even seeing his face. She recalled a few of the rumors from the ballet girls, that his face was that of death, or a skull, or something equally awful. She had dismissed them, but now she wondered. Perhaps it did hide something that he couldn’t show to society or be shunned for it.  
Erik walking in the room broke her from her reverie. “Are you alright? You looked concerned.”   
“Oh, you needn't worry. I was just wondering if-” she looked around, locked eyes with her gift to him, “if you would like your present.”  
The tray the tea was on clattered the last inch to the table, narrowly avoiding causing a mess. “I’m sorry?” he asked.  
“I know it's just supplies like you guessed, but I think you will like them.” she said, unsure why he had reacted so.  
He slowly reached for the bag, taking a seat in the armchair. “The supplies. . .are for myself?”   
“Certainly. I didn’t know what else to get you for your birthday.” she said, worried now. “I know you don’t celebrate, but it just felt right.” she said, trying to undo that tension and strange focus she had caused in him, and he retrieved the bag like it might shatter at any moment.   
“May I?”  
“You may, we agreed, remember?”  
“I did not know that the bag was a gift, I assumed it was something for yourself. Bow rosin, or something.” Now he was repeating himself? Very strange. She continued on anyway.   
“Oh, I see! Well, even if you didn’t guess correctly, you already know what it is. Open it.” she said.  
He did so slowly, pushing aside the paper like he didn’t want it to tear. He lifted first the writing set then the paper out and said nothing for a moment as it sat on his knees. Now it was her turn to watch him for any sign of expression, something that was literally rendered impossible since she could not see his face. She was about to interrupt, but it felt wrong to talk right then, she stayed still and quiet until he slowly lifted his gaze.  
“Thank you. It’s a very good gift.” he said, very quietly.  
Her shoulders relaxed some. “I’m glad.” Erik served her tea, but she noticed there was only one cup. “Are you going to have some yourself?”  
He stiffened. “Not at the moment.” he said. As she took another sip of tea, she wondered if it was because of the mask.   
“If, er - if you get hungry or thirsty, you can just let me know you need a few minutes to eat and I’ll stay here.” she told him, painfully awkward.  
“I. . .appreciate the sentiment. I will be fine, however.” his response was very even.  
“Alright.” she told him. She sighed and set down her glass. “I feel we’re tiptoeing around each other, and we don’t need to be. If I have something to say, I’m just going to, and I want you to be able to do the same. Okay?”  
“Should I allow you to be even more blunt than usual? I suppose we can agree to that.” It was as good an answer as she was going to get. “Does that mean you have questions?”  
“Yes.”  
“Ask. I may decline to answer.”   
“Of course. Alright, what other languages do you speak? I saw you have books with letters I don’t even recognize.”   
“Persian, mainly. I have recently developed some Italian, and can read and write Latin, but not speak it. I can speak Occitan conversationally, but not read it.”  
“That would be five languages! When did you learn them?”  
“Latin as a child. From religious services, mainly. I lived in Persia long enough to learn the language, same with Occitan, I resided in south France for some time. Italian comes, admittedly, from Opera more than anything else.”   
“That’s absolutely wonderful. Have you traveled often, then?”  
“I was born in France, the majority of my life has been here. The only noticeable place I have been elsewhere was Persia.”  
“Did you know someone there, or?”  
“That was not why I went. I was hired there. I did meet someone there, though, who occasionally goes to great length to contact me, against my will. It has been five years since I last talked to him, perhaps I have shaken him at last.”  
That brought up more questions she would have to ask later. “What did you do in Persia?”  
She wasn’t sure if he was going to answer when he finally spoke - “Architecture. There was a palace that needed building in a way that normal men would not think of. They discovered me and commissioned it.”  
“Did you like it there? I have never been out of France.”   
“I despised the place and have only bad memories, although the Daroga was admittedly a great asset - the only reason I escaped with my life.” he said darkly.  
“But why?” she asked she asked with a gasp of surprise.  
“I built a palace with secret passages that the owner didn’t want known. The others were all killed but me. And architecture wasn’t the only job I performed there. But that is a question I will not answer.”  
“Okay. Now - just yes or no. Is the mask just for appearances?”  
“No.” came a tense answer. She nodded solemnly, she would think about that later.  
“Okay. What is your favorite color?”  
He looked up in surprise. “A favorite color?”  
“Yes. Everyone has one.”  
“I have never considered that before. Perhaps. . .” he thought a moment. “Red, or gold.”   
“Good choices. Do you have something to ask me?”  
“You favorite color?” he said at length.  
“Deep green.” she said at once. “But I like red too.”  
He fell silent, thinking for a moment. “Your age?”   
“I’m twenty-one. Yourself?”  
He pondered. “Twenty. . .four.”   
“You sounded unsure.” she remarked incredulously. He responded with a small rise and fall of shoulders that would have been a shrug if it weren’t so graceful. “Well. . .what is your favorite food?”  
“I don’t have one. I don’t eat much. Do you have one?”  
“Oh yes, I love sweets. Warm desserts are my favorite. No sweet tooth?”  
“I never quite understood why people valued one food over another. I suppose not.”   
“It’s a bit like having a favorite music genre. You like them all, but one is just better than another to you. What symphonies do you like? I don’t know too many.”  
“Baroque is my preference, Vivaldi and his contemporaries” he said, and when he next spoke he sounded much more animated. “For the most part I prefer pieces that require more skill, but that can be hard to translate across different instruments.” he began. “And even then it depends on the person. Anyone can be taught to play, but whether they actually care for the music is different. The people I allow to be hired here care, not just to be paid but because this is what they want to do. That is my favorite type of music, and therefore hard to give a name to, because one song by someone who cares little would be far inferior to a song you played.” He explained. She smiled as she listened, he was far more animated and less refined when he talked about what he cared about, and she was intrigued. This was a side of Erik she would like to get to know more. And that last line. . .he didn’t mean anything by it, but it still made her heart warm at the idea that he preferred her music to another’s.  
“That’s a wonderful way to look at music, I hadn’t thought about it like that before. You’re a true musician, Erik.”   
“I thank you. Music has always been my only solace, so perhaps I spend more time than is natural dwelling on it.”   
“If it makes you comfortable, then it wouldn’t be unnatural.” she contradicted. “I don’t know much. . .but I it’s obvious your past has not been easy.” his looking away was easy enough to read - she was right. Perhaps it was an understatement. “I wish - I wish you hadn’t needed a solace so often, that you were always comfortable, but I am glad you discovered music. It is something that can always be with you.” she said, staring into her teacup.   
“You are unlike anyone I have ever met, Ami.” Erik said softly, and there was a lovely softness to his golden eyes when she looked up and caught his gaze. The next moment he looked away with a frown, the mood shifting to something darker. “But then, you do not know my past. Perhaps you see me as a victim and pity me. I have done many things that could be called nothing else but evil, Ami. Even outside my role as an Opera Ghost.” his voice was chilling. “If you knew them, you would flee - but the tunnels are many.”  
“Erik?” she asked in a small voice. He seemed not to hear her. “Erik, it isn’t pity I feel for you. And I can’t deny what you may have done in the past but you aren’t evil. That much I know.”  
“But you don’t, Ami. You don’t even know if what I have told you were all lies.”  
“We covered this. It wouldn’t have made sense for you to lie if you had some ulterior motive for me. Which you don’t.” She said, voice sounding high-pitched even to her own ears. Erik stood, taking their tea tray. She fidgeted with her clothing, unsure how to proceed. His tone was nothing short of terrifying. Why did he always assume the worst with her? His fatalistic attitude had just seemed a little sad, but now she was realizing it was dark too. To slip into sounding like that so quickly. . . should she ask to leave? He would take her back, certainly. But probably never see her again. Erik was a mystery, one she had to tread carefully around. Did she want to risk getting to know him, when what she learned wouldn’t be pleasant?   
He entered the room again and she met his gaze evenly, lips slightly parted until she realized and ducked her head. She did. For better or worse, she was going to stick with this.  
“Erik, it’s your birthday. I came to celebrate. I do want to know your past, one day. But for today, let’s just talk. What are all these books about?” she asked, looking at the stack. There was a long moment of silence, but he must have come to the decision to let it go, because he breathed out - she couldn’t call it a proper sigh, and sat down once more. He set fresh tea on the table, and took his gift and set it on his knee as he sat down on the piano bench. She realized this was the first time she had seen him in a sitting position. Naturally, he sat upon the piano bench like a throne. She would have expected nothing less. Long limbs managed to look mysterious instead of gangly in his suit, which must have been custom tailored. He glanced at the books. “Poetry, mostly. The one on top is the Divine Comedy in its original Italian, to further my understanding-”   
She interjected, setting down her teacup. “If you know enough Italian to read Dante in it, you aren’t just learning it anymore.” she asserted.  
“If one cannot have a conversation in it, one has not learned it.” he replied.  
She sighed. “If you haven’t anyone to practice with aloud then it is perfectly understandable you wouldn’t master speaking a language, so reading it is completely different. I don’t know anyone here that actually knows Italian short of the prima donna, and she would only know opera stories about heartbreak and redemption, not the best for learning.” Ami pointed out.  
“Hm. Well, then I will master reading it and teach myself to speak it.”   
“Naturally.” she replied. “What are the others?”  
“Romantic compilations. Keats, Shelley, Byron. They are all full of themselves but they manage it beautifully.” he said dryly, and she laughed aloud. “Of course, any poet worth their salt dies before I can hear them in person.”   
“You didn’t strike me as the romantic type.” she said in confusion.   
“Not romantic, believe me. Romantic. It’s a genre, there tends to be death and graveyards involved.” he made a gesture upward with his hand to indicate the capital letter which made her smile.  
She laughed again. “Would you take offense if I said that makes more sense?”   
“Of course not.”   
“Well, wait a moment. There is a poet that’s alive that is good. Achille mentioned him, and I read a few poems. Tennyson, his name was.”   
“Tennyson? Now he is romantic. All that mythology.” Erik said in annoyance.  
“Which is wonderful.” she asserted. “And the one about Ulysses, it’s so. . .powerful.”   
“Hm.” he said again. “I admit I have not read it. If I do, I will tell you how you are wrong.” She hid her grin behind her teacup.   
“Right. So why are you reading poetry?”  
“Because it was something I had not read yet.”  
“Do you just read things because you haven’t learned that subject yet?”  
“Yes. Isn’t that how you learned about poetry?”  
“No, I know about it because my aunt loved it, and gave me her books when I was young, and I liked them too. That’s how most people decide what to read, unless they are in school.”  
“I never went to school, so I wouldn’t know.” he mused.  
“You what?” She leaned forward sharply.  
“Never went to school.” he repeated evenly. “The mask made it unlikely. Clearly, it was unnecessary.” he said bluntly, and his tone was far more shut off than when they were talking about poetry. She decided to change the subject, knowing it was one she would be dwelling on later tonight.   
“Well, I suppose not.” She said, slumping back into her chair and finishing her tea. “What are you going to read next?”  
“I have yet to decide.”   
“It should be mythology.” she said immediately.   
“I haven’t the books.”   
“I’ll bring mine.” she said with a grin.   
This time he did sigh. “If you insist.” he said. He clearly must not mind that much.   
He had been flipping through the paper while they were talking, and Erik now set it aside and stood up. “Come, it must be nearly nine by now.”   
She snorted ungracefully. “It is nearly eleven by now.”   
“Certainly not.”   
“Certainly. . .yes.” she tried for a retort and did not manage it. She saw him smile once more.  
“I can prove it, the clock is in the kitchen. Follow me.”   
She stood and followed, bringing her teacup with her. The kitchen was small, he clearly didn’t cook much. The only thing on the counters was jars of tea leaves and a knife set in a small block, but on the wall there was a clock. Ten twenty, or thereabout. Erik frowned in calculation. “Time flies when you’re having fun, you know.”   
“I did not know time could change its rate of speed.” he said, deliberately misunderstanding.  
“You’ve never been in the right company.” she replied. “Either way, it is time for me to sleep. Ah - can you help me find my way out of here?”  
“Of course.” he looked offended at any other idea. “Besides, I have the surrounding areas trapped and you could die if you were lost.” he said calmly. She paled slightly. “Follow me and you will not be hurt, I assure you of that.”   
“No, I trust you. I’m just worried about anyone else.” she muttered, and when she took his arm she followed a bit more closely than before.  
“I would turn them away before they got to that point.”   
“Then why the traps?”  
“In case they persist.” he said like it was natural. She huffed.   
“I feel I should voice my strongest objections.”   
“Noted.” he said, not like he would do anything about it. She pressed her lips together and looked away, and he looked at her for a few moments before they continued on. She was still far more night blind than he was, but when she climbed the steep stairs she could see enough to know they weren’t going back the way they came, exactly. They had stopped before they could be far enough up, and were going down a hallway.   
“Erik, shouldn’t we have climbed more?” she asked, though she didn’t try to stop him.  
“I have a more direct route.” he explained simply, and she stayed quiet although she wanted to ask him for details. After a few moments, she saw a beam of light from the ground, a space too narrow to be a doorway. “Can you infer where we are?”  
She thought about it for a long moment. They weren’t as far as the roof, and since they would have to emerge on a floor it would have to be the second, they had climbed long enough for that. So it wasn’t the balcony, on the first floor. They hadn’t walked far down the hallway, so it was close to the door to the roof. What was below it except her hall? She shook her head up at Erik. “I can’t imagine anywhere except near my room, but there is no way outside.”   
“Ah, but you are correct.”  
“So. . .we’re inside?”  
“Yes. Watch.” he said, like she would do anything else. He reached out into darkness. He must have pushed a button or something similar, because more light flooded through around edges, and he slid aside a part of the wall like a door. She narrowed her eyes and looked around, then gasped.   
“This is my room.”  
“Yes.” he said, proud of himself. She scowled.  
“You could see into my room? I could have been indecent! Not to mention the general lack of privacy.”   
“I do not spy on you.” he said. She had no idea if he meant he spied on others and she got a free pass, or if he did not spy in general. She assumed it was the former.   
“How am I to know that?”  
“You are the one who said you trusted me. Was that a lie?”  
“No!” she exclaimed in a huff.   
“Then elaborate on why this is different.”  
“Because! This is personal. And I didn’t know you could do it.”   
“It seemed a moot point. I did not spy.”   
“It just brings up a lot of questions. What all have you seen around here?”   
“Why does it matter?” He sounded genuinely confused. She groaned.  
“Oh, come in and I’ll try to explain.” she said, and dropped to sit on her bed. He took the chair by the vanity. “People deserve a right to privacy. I don’t know what else to say to explain it.”   
“I understand if that was a belief you held, but I do not understand why you are angry. Your privacy was never violated.”   
“Because.” she said again. When he did not say anything else, she threw up her hands. “I support privacy, obviously. That means I would defend it for anyone, not just myself.”   
“What if that person were a criminal hiding his crimes?” Erik asked, and she let herself fall back onto her bed and covered her eyes.   
“You have to be joking.”  
“No. You think they deserve to hide the evidence?”  
“Of course not! That is two completely different things. The people here aren’t criminals. And if they were suspected of it, then they forfeit the right to privacy. It’s not some be-all and and end-all rule.”   
“Hm.”   
“Well?”  
“Well what, Ami?”  
“Do you agree?” she asked impatiently.   
“Yes. In theory I do.”   
“Then you will stop spying on people?” she asked hopefully.  
“No.”   
She rolled over to bury her face in her pillow. “You are infuriating.”  
“My job requires it.”   
“You don’t have a job!”   
“My paycheck tells me otherwise.” He countered. There was a tone of humor in his voice, and she couldn’t help but laugh at that. She sobered quickly though, and sat up again.  
“Erik, you really should consider stopping that. Watching their performances should be enough.”  
“Perhaps for their art ability, but there is also the concern of discovery, and of their extra-curricular activities damaging their career.”   
“Like courting someone?” she asked in disbelief.  
“Like embezzlement, another job, stealing, drug use -”  
“Alright, alright. But you would know that was happening from their performances too.”  
“It could escalate too quickly by the time the signs were shown.”  
“Has this ever happened before?”  
“No, but-”  
“Has it come even close?”  
“Not particularly, however-”  
“No buts and howevers, Erik. There is no reason to assume something will go wrong. If something does then you try and stop it then, but breaking privacy is not helping.”  
“It has always behooved me to be cautious in the past. You have only your own experience, Ami, and not mine to see what threatens.”  
“No, I don’t. I’ve never had my life threatened, thank goodness. I’ve never needed to be cautious like it seems you have.”  
“The road from a home to a prison is a short one.” he said in clipped tones.  
“I - what?”  
“Things happen quickly, one must be vigilant.”  
“You’ve been in prison?”  
“Not officially. We were on the subject of the morality of spying - and why it is imperative to be careful.”   
“Erik, we’re safe here. No one is going to harm anyone, they aren’t going to destroy themselves, or anything like that. This isn’t Persia. You said I only had my experiences, but you only have yours.”   
Erik got to his feet. “It is late, and time for you to sleep.” he made to the mirror-door. She stopped him with a hand to his forearm.  
“Erik, you must stay until we either come to an agreement or agree to disagree.”  
He tossed off her arm. “I am leaving.”   
“Don’t run away from me.” she said, standing up to circle around and face him. His jaw was clenched.  
“What have you left to say?”  
“Do you agree with me or not?”  
He was clearly angry. “I don’t owe you an answer.” he practically hissed.  
She was startled at his reaction. “Erik, I don’t know why you are so worked up about this.” she replied, “But frankly you have no right to talk to me like this over a civilized discussion.”  
“You don’t have the right to dictate my actions, Ami. Good evening.” he said finally, and then he was gone. She blinked at her reflection in utter confusion, then snapped into action and started searching along the edges for a button, a lever, whatever operated the thing, but she found nothing and cursed lightly.   
She couldn’t get the door open, she couldn’t get down there by herself, and she couldn’t figure out what exactly had happened. Yes, they were arguing, but it was never hostile. She’d even laughed at one point. What was his problem?   
No right to dictate his actions? How was she doing that? Utterly confused and tired, she slowly made her way into bed, but she didn’t sleep well.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Achille is adorable, Edward is a rock of common sense, and dubious taste in poetic arts is shown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is a thing. Tennyson is great, ya'll. You should read him.   
> Also all I know about Tristain und Isolt was gathered from a youtube video with english subtitles but it was quite fitting.

She resolved not to let it affect her, but her playing suffered for her distraction at rehearsal. She was waiting for the elder Zacharie to make a comment, but none came. After rehearsal, she was walking back to her room when Achille stopped her with a worried expression.  
“Ami, you look like death. Are you ill?”   
She stopped at his frown of concern and sighed, smiling a little. “No, I’m just tired and it put me into a distracted mood. Thank you for asking, though.”  
“Of course, Ami. You should go to your cousin’s house for dinner, it would be better than what we have here.”  
“Are you insulting my cooking?” she asked playfully. She didn’t want him to be worried.  
“Well. . .” he said, trailing off, but he grinned.   
“No desserts for you, then. You’ll just never know.” His mouth formed an ‘O’ and she laughed. “You might have an idea. I think I’ll spend the night over there, I miss them. And their proper meals.”  
“Of course. And Ed should visit more often.” he said, then ducked his head. “If you want.” She laughed again.  
“I’m onto you, you know.”  
“W-what?”  
“With my cousin. I know how you feel, you’re terrible at hiding it.”  
“I didn’t know anyone was looking.” he said in slight horror.  
“I’m always looking out for my cousin, and him for me. So, if you two ever happen, and you hurt him, I’ll hurt you.”   
“Ah.” he stuttered simply.  
She began to walk away and called over her shoulder, “I’ll see what I can do to help.”   
The break with Achille had helped, but as he took a carriage to her aunt’s, Erik was back in her mind. She hadn’t the foggiest what she was supposed to do now.   
Luckily, her family helped her keep her mind off it. It wouldn’t be the end of the world if their relationship was irreparable. It would just really, really be awful. But a hug from her aunt, a hair ruffle from her uncle, and an arm slung around her shoulder by Ed made her feel everything would be alright. Until she was relaxing with Ed in his room and thought about that. Erik had nobody. She looked towards the window until Ed said her name loudly, and she jumped and turned back to him.  
“Ami, what happened today?”  
“What do you mean?”  
“You coming home unexpectedly like this - something is wrong. Is it Achille’s father?”  
“No, no. I’m fine.”   
Ed walked over from his seat and took her shoulders so she had to look at him. “Ami, why are you lying to me?” he asked seriously. “I mean, you aren’t any good at it.” he said with a smirk. She chuckled and pulled away, sitting on his bed.  
“Remember the masked man?”  
“Yes. . .”   
“His name is Erik. He. . .extorts money from the manager. But he isn’t bad, exactly.” Ed looked skeptical. “A lot of things have happened to him that I don’t know the beginning of. But we’ve been talking. I got him a birthday present. I’m not explaining this well, am I?”  
“No, you really aren’t. I don’t like the sound of this.”   
“I didn’t at first either. How could I have? But there’s so much about him. . . I just want to get to know him. And I had been. But we had a fight.”  
“Over what?” Ami looked away. “What did he do?”  
“He watches the people in the Opera so he can make sure they are performing well. I didn’t quite agree with that. But he thought I was. . .commanding him to stop, or something, and got angry.”  
“Did he hurt you?” Edward asked quickly, searching her face.  
“Of course not! That’s part of why I know he isn’t a bad person. He would never hurt me. And when I touch him he doesn’t even know how to react.”  
Edward sighed, and pulled Ami into a hug. “Ami, what am I going to do with you?”  
“Let me stay the night so I’m distracted?”  
“I think that can be arranged. You’re going to try and make up with him, aren’t you.”   
“Yes.”   
“Of course you are. I know better than to try and stop you. And I trust your judgement. Just make sure to come back and put it all into perspective every now and then, okay? This is all very dangerous.”   
She chewed her lip and nodded. “You’re right. Thank you Ed. For not trying to talk me out of this, and being there for me, and everything.”  
“I know you can handle it, cousin mine. Come on, let’s get some food.” he said. 

~~~~~~~~~~~

The next night, back at the Opera, she made a decision she was sure she was going to regret. So, on the roof with a jacket and a candle, she found the button on the statue, took a deep breath, and started descending.  
There were a lot of stairs. Without anyone there she realized just how far she was traveling. It was also deathly silent, she could hear nothing but her own breathing. After awhile, she wondered if it had been too long. Had she passed up where she should have gone down a hallway? Would she even have known, with it being pitch black last time she was here? She worried her lip as she kept going. A few feet later, she tripped on an uneven stair and gasped as he candle fell, clattering to the ground, and went out entirely. She gave a little squeak of fear. She couldn’t see anything. She didn’t dare move, but if she had she knew she wouldn’t see her hand an inch in front of her eyes. Any visibility there had been the first time was gone with her eyes being used to the light of the flame. She began to shiver in fear. It wasn’t the darkness, but the knowledge she had no idea how to continue on and no idea how to get back out of here if she climbed back up with the latched door. Yep, definitely regretting this decision.  
“Keep going down. One step at a time, Ami.” she said, and that was what she began to do until she reached the place that must have been the next landing, since she could step forward without another stair being there immediately. Then, quite suddenly, there was a hand on her shoulder and she screamed, jerking back in fear and surprise and falling backwards. A light flared in the dark hall. Her wide eyes flew up to meet. . .gold. She closed her eyes and sighed in relief. “Erik, thank God you’re here.”   
“That wasn’t your reaction a second ago.”   
“When I thought you were, I don’t know --”  
“The Opera Ghost?”  
“Not funny.”  
“What are you doing here?”  
“Obviously I was trying to find you.”  
“Why?”  
“When you left the night before last I had no idea what you were even talking about. One moment we were debating and the next you were accusing me of trying to control you. You! I demand you explain how that even makes sense.”  
“You were telling me not to do something.”  
“I was telling you why you shouldn’t do something. It’s different. Besides, even if I told you to do something it’s not like I could enforce that, so why does it bother you so much?”  
“It doesn’t matter.”  
“Yes, it does.” she said firmly. Then less sure of herself, “Can we please get to either my room or yours?”  
“Since you were so eager to be here, let us continue.”  
She nodded and started climbing carefully down. “How did you know I was here?”  
“I have alarms that let me know the statue was opened. I left my home soon after and found you.”   
“It felt like an eternity.”   
“We are only halfway there.”   
“Oh.” she said in a small tone. She was going to have to get better at being daring.   
“Why did you come all this way to demand answers of me?”  
“Because it made no sense to me. I was confused, and you left so suddenly. You shouldn’t go to bed angry at someone, you know. I wanted to mend our relationship.”  
“You didn’t come for a day.”  
“No, I went to see my cousin for advice. And don’t you dare say anything about him being a threat or bad to talk to or anything else, he would never hurt me.”  
“That does nothing for my well being.”  
“Of course it does. It would hurt me if you were hurt.”  
“Why?” he asked evenly.  
“Because we’re friends?” she replied in confusion. “Now tell me what you meant.” she said. By this point they were at the lake, so she gave him until he was in the boat to answer.  
“I acted rashly.” he admitted. She bit back an acidic response. It was framed like an apology, at least. “I am not used to this manner of talking with another. Casually, about common subjects. As you had said, I have only my frame of reference and you yours. It caused a barrier, and I assumed you were trying to stop me.”   
“I think I can understand that.” she said, though she couldn’t imagine what his experiences must have been. “But why react so violently? When there was nothing I could have done?”  
“You think of me now as in a position of power, but it was not always so.”  
“You said you were imprisoned.” she said quietly.  
“I should not have.”   
“What did you mean?” she pressed.  
“It is none of your concern.”   
“But it is. I am concerned for you. What did you mean?”  
To her great surprise, he answered. “It was when I was a child. I was with a Romani band.” She shook her head to indicate she didn't know what that was. “Gypsy. It was for my singing skill.”  
“That isn't even half the story.”  
“No.” He said. There was a long pause. “They would remove my mask for the entertainment of the audience at the end of the performance, an act which required I was secure, or else I could leave. Now that your curiosity is sated, I would thank you never to mention this again.”  
“If you wish.” She said, subdued with horror at the idea of it. “And I would like to make it clear I don't try to order anyone to do anything. I wouldn't like it done to me, after all.”  
“I am coming to understand as much. It would seem you have done well convincing me besides, I have decided to reduce the closeness of my watching.”  
“Oh, thank you Erik.”  
“It wasn't for you.” He said simply. She nodded, but she had a feeling he wasn't entirely right. When he proffered a hand to her as they climbed out of the boat, she squeezed it for a long moment and smiled at him before letting go and entering his home. It was warm enough she could take off her jacket, and draped it over the back of the couch. “Please, make yourself at home.” he said dryly. She only laughed and did as he said. “I suppose you ventured down here without bringing anything to do.”  
“Forgive me for not bringing my violin when I couldn’t even handle a candle properly.” she said sarcastically.  
“You’re forgiven.” he said, making her laugh again.   
“Of course, I could go back and get that poetry I wanted to show you -”  
“No. Don’t trouble yourself.” he said hastily, and she saw a smile when he realized she was teasing.   
“Alright then. I suppose we’ll just have to talk to each other. Or I could borrow your violin.” she suggested.  
“Hm, it has been awhile since we have properly practiced. I would not wish your skill to fall behind.” She muttered something that definitely could have been ‘whose fault was it I didn’t see you?’ but when he turned a sharp gaze on her she only looked up at him innocently. He retreated to another room, which she supposed must have been his bedroom, and came back with the instrument, handing her the case and some bow rosin. She got to work happily, and nodded when she was ready. “You are performing Tristain und Isolt, correct?”   
“We are.” she said happily. It was such a wonderful story, and was glad she got to perform it.   
“A remarkable work. Some of the best music I have heard. Unfortunately the story is drivel.”  
“It is not drivel!” she protested.   
“According to you, neither is Tennyson.” he retorted, which wasn’t much of an argument to her, but she rolled her eyes and let it go. “For that you can start with the love duet.” he said with a smirk on his face. Her eyes widened a bit.  
“I mean, scales are usually good to start with. . .”   
“No no, we mustn’t waste time.” he said slyly. She sighed.   
“Alright.” she agreed defiantly, and lifted the violin. After all, she wasn’t a first violin or anything. Her part wasn’t that hard. And she had practiced before, plenty of times. Just not recently. She bit her tongue, then relaxed into the posture he had taught her and began to play.  
Focused as she was, her worry melted into determination. She had read the story behind this opera a few times before and so she put herself into their place - deeply, foolishly in love - to create that effect that she had managed before on the roof. She felt like it must have worked, because when Erik finally signalled her to stop, he only said, “Brava.” She smiled at his words, and her cheeks flushed a bit.   
“It seems I was mistaken once again, you have lost nothing from being out of practice.” he told her.  
“And I owe you another thanks, for teaching me how to play this way.” He waved her off and cleared a space on his piano bench so he could sit down. “You are an artist too - I mean with drawing, not just music.” she said in half-wonder, half-dismay. Did this man excel at everything?  
“It is not as main focus, I only use the skill for architecture.” he said casually.  
“Still, that is impressive. Why are you practicing architecture?”  
“It is something to fill the time when music does not catch my interest - rare as that is.”   
“How interesting. I am still marveling at the fact we are on top of a lake, so I know little about the subject.”  
“Removed from it’s math components, it is quite simple.” he said. She doubted that, but he was beginning to explain so she leaned over to listen. Somewhere in the middle of the conversation, their shoulders brushed and Erik made to turn away, but she stopped him with a well placed question and leaned in further. Ami bit her lip as she wondered why she had just done that. Erik faltered and gave her the same look, but he was in his teaching mode and continued on. Still, once they had covered basic structure and how Persian architecture was different than Parisian, he broke apart from her farther than usual.   
“You know, Erik, I have never heard you play the piano. Or sing, for that matter.”   
“Hm.” he acknowledged. “Would you like to?”  
“I would.”  
“Play your part again from the love duet.” he said simply, and sat at the bench.  
“You are a tenor, then.”   
“You could have asked, were you interested.” he said, bemused.  
She shrugged lightly and eagerly pulled out her bow. “You’ll have to sing in French, sometime, too.”   
He pondered a moment. “I can translate the lyrics. I don’t know German, but I do know this opera well enough. It will forfeit some of the exact wordplay, but since the story is trite. . .”  
She was too excited to even shoot back at him. “That would be amazing. On your cue.” She said, standing and getting into position facing Erik on the opposite side of his piano. He played the cue, and she joined in immediately.   
They played together for around two minutes before his singing part came into play, and she was already mesmerized. She watched him closely, his eyes closed as long, gloved fingers darted across the keys but pressed each with exact care and meaning. When his vocals came in her lips parted with absolute wonder and she shivered, her own eyes falling closed as she focused on her playing. His voice soared, a high tenor voice darting across the words - “We are now dedicated to the night!” and turned darker, deeper with “Spiteful day” being spat out. There was so much more emotion than when it was performed on stage, this was how an opera should be. And no sooner than he sang so angrily did his tone change, fall into a featherlight “before him who has lovingly looked at death’s night, the lies of daylight, honor, fame! Amid day’s empty fantasies, one single longing remains.” he sang, and she felt the longing so deeply to her core that her eyes flew open once more and she looked at him intently. “Love’s delight” was a whisper barely heard, and he tapered off the music there before what would be long music interlude. She held his bow loosely at her side as she met his eyes as they opened. She remembered after a second her mouth was open and closed it lightly, then stepped forward, setting the violin down on the chair, and spun back around to face him, taking his forearms into her hands. She knew the smile on her face must have been bright.   
“Erik, that was incredible. That was the best music I have ever heard, it was so emotional, I haven’t even the words. Truly, wonderful.” she said breathlessly.   
His eyes were warm as they looked into hers, but he was tense from when she had touched him and she drew back so she was only holding his gloved hands. She had never seen him without them, she realized. And he was so gaunt, and holding his hands in her’s she realized they were thin too, she could feel the bones prominently. Were his gloves another aspect of hiding his appearance, a lesser kind of mask? The idea would not hold in her mind on the tides of wonder at his great skill, and how they had sounded together. “It was impressive with you in duet.” he said, and his tone was as soft as his eyes. She shot him a slightly unfocused grin, and Erik returned the hold on her hands for the first time.   
“I would love to play another duet with you sometime. Besides sounding magical, it was good practice.” she said.   
“As you wish.” he said, and there was a long content pause before he seemed to realize he was holding her hands and let go suddenly, standing and making for the violin, returning it to it’s case. She returned to her seat on the chair and watched him. There was another twinge of something that was unsettlingly close to her heart, and her cheeks warmed. She chewed her lip and tried to convince herself that it would be very, very bad to have a crush on Erik.   
Logically that was easy. The warm feeling she felt whenever she looked at him made it emotionally very difficult. That wasn’t good. He turned toward her and she was almost certain the blush was off her face, so she smiled up at him. “Well, it must be time for me to get back. Tomorrow, then?”  
“Tomorrow.” he agreed, and she paid very close attention as they climbed the stairs on the way back. At the mirror door she stopped and turned to him with a ducked head. “Thank you again. For the duet and for thinking about what I said.” she told him. She would feel better knowing the dancers had a bit more privacy. She went inside and he didn’t respond. She sat heavily on the bed. She was just going to have to ignore her feelings. They would probably go away soon, anyway.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bonding! Poetry! Family!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love the de Chagnys too much not to add them at least a little.

February ended spectacularly, with a brilliant performance of Tristan Und Isolt that got rave reviews and won them a new opera patron, a young Vicomte by the name of Philippe de Chagny. The de Chagny family was a household name, their presence in the art community of Paris was new, but they had long been sponsors of great works in the city. The Vicomte made a statement that with his little brother being born, he wanted to start a new tradition for the boy Raoul to be raised into. Ami brought the clip from the newspaper to Erik. “Isn’t it sweet?” she asked him. He had taken to meeting her in her room when they were going to practice and descending to his house so they would not be overheard.  
“He only said that for the praise he would get. But it is good to have an influential patron.” he conceded. It was praise from Erik, and she thought this new patron would be good for the Opera.  
Until he began to get involved with the dancers. Many of them. Sometimes more than one at the same time - not that the girls knew that. It was soon the hottest Opera gossip and had Erik pacing about his living room and talking about useless patrons whilst she sipped her tea and nodded at the right times. One afternoon, she did not quite hide her smile in her cup in time and he glared at her half-heartedly. “You think that this isn’t a problem, don’t you?”  
Ami sighed. “It really isn’t, Erik. The girls will revolt soon enough and everything will go back to normal. You know, he’s been with that younger girl, Sorelli, for awhile now.”   
“A week is not awhile.”   
She smiled. “For him it is. And it is for her, too, from what I’ve heard. She’s young, she might be in love with him. If they mature each other, wonderful. If not, the ensuing breakup will be so explosive he will stay away from any female in the whole opera house.” He sniffed at the idea of that. “Trust me on this matter, Erik. Give it a week before you start dropping notes everywhere and I assure you, it will blow over.”   
He didn’t like the idea of that, but he also seemed to trust her. He gave a trademark ‘hm’ that she took as acquiescence and sat down on the side of the couch opposite her. She raised her brows in surprise, he had always taken the piano bench until that point. Erik didn’t seem to understand her question, so she let it drop. He looked more comfortable there, sitting less regally and more like he was actually relaxing his muscles.  
A few things came into her mind at once. One, that she’d never seen Erik eat or drink anything, and two, she had never seen him in anything that was not a suit. Granted, she had only known him during the colder months, but she had a feeling that even as it warmed up he would be wearing just as many layers. Something of her contemplation must have shown up on her face because he asked her what she was thinking about.  
“Just that I brought you that Tennyson to read, and am wondering if you’ll like it.” she lied smoothly. She had brought the poetry, however, and when she retrieved the book from a table near the door, she sat closer to him than she had been before to see his reaction better. It was only possible if she watched his eyes closely, she could tell if he moved his eyebrows and was learning to interpret each movement.   
He opened it first to Ulysses, and she smiled to know he remembered the title. From her observations, he wasn’t moved as deeply as she was, but he didn’t hate it. He flipped next to a random entry, Tythonius. This one Erik liked more, and he closed the book afterwards to look up at her smug smile.  
“You like like the cat that caught the canary.” he said wryly.  
“I’m glad you liked it. I told you it was good.” she said.  
“And how did you know I liked it? I haven’t said anything.”   
She waved him off. “I’ve learned to read you. Sometimes.” she admitted. His gaze went closed off for awhile and she wondered if he would be displeased, but there was a soft smile on his face a moment later. She sighed in relief, and out of some shared trust their hands moved a little towards each other and met, just the fingertips. A thrill went through her, like when a bird lands on you and you feel as if you cannot breathe lest it fly away. “Why did you like Tythonius so much better?” she asked.   
“The feeling of having lived too long, the desperate longing to die Tythonius has - it was a potent expression. I am also fond of the irony that he asked to live forever and now asks if he can cease.” He explained. She bit her lip. The idea of it - of wanting to die - it was horrifying to her. Erik sounded familiar with it. Her discomfort must have been on her face, because he added in a more defensive tone “You were the one who asked for bluntness in the past. Are you regretting that?”  
“No.” she said immediately. “I am just trying to understand. I couldn't conceive of-” she began, but stopped. Like their earlier dilemma, this sprung from their entirely different lives. She thought of her uncle, who told her he had visited a war zone in the past, where children had never had a childhood and many saw little purpose in living day to day in fear. There was a story he told of a soldier who decided to get himself killed, doing as much damage to the enemy in the process as he could. Her uncle called him a hero. Nonetheless, it was a type of suicide. She wondered now if he had longed to die like the reluctant immortal, asking himself how he could go. She looked to Erik, who was watching her in a kind of icy silence. Of his detail-free story of being in a cage. An even less elaborated-on tale of torture in a foreign land. A tight feeling in her chest came upon her and tears pricked at her eyes before she could stop them or excuse herself. “Oh.” she managed.  
“Ami.” he said, and was that panic in his voice? She looked up at him and saw emotions she could not pick out in his gaze. She wiped away the tears and took a deep breath, waiting for her sudden realization to subside. Erik opened his mouth, but she interrupted.  
“Do you feel that way now?” she asked, she asked in a wavering tone. She realized he had let go of her hand some time ago and took it again now as he began to look away. He met her gaze and looked between her eyes for a moment.   
“No.” he said softly. She leaned forward a little in relief and set her other hand on top, holding his between hers. She looked up only to realize he had gotten closer as well, his free hand was worrying fabric between his fingers. She moved her left hand to his arm above his elbow and the hand stilled. Slowly, not breaking eye contact, his hand slid along her arm so they were each holding each other’s hands, resting on Erik’s knees. Her eyes drifted close as she reconciled herself to knowing that at some point Erik had wanted to die. “When did you feel that way?” she asked quietly.  
“Since the time I understood death. When I escaped my prison, I killed my jailer. I only understood what that meant halfway across a river. I had stowed away on a boat to escape. When the boat turned around I got off. A few ships later a man met me, said he had somewhere for me to go. He took me to the Shah of Persia. There was little there to foster positive feelings. The Daroga did generate some, but. . .” he stopped, realizing he was telling her far more than intended. He stopped suddenly and made to move away.   
“But what, Erik? The Daroga, he was your friend.” she said. His lips parted as he breathed and when he moved his hands this time she let him. He did not pull away, but only turned them so he had more control of his movement. From the top of his glove, she saw a red mark. “You were restrained.” she guessed. He looked quickly down and pulled the glove on tighter. She began to move her thumb softly over his hand, a gentle reassurance. His shoulders relaxed slightly.  
“On the journey, yes. I had proved elusive. And Nadir. . .he was my friend.” he let out a soft breath. “But we became friends for a terrible reason, and he felt he owed me. Besides other circumstances, it was too much. Everything was too much there, I could not think. There was so little music there. I think he watched me more to protect me from myself than for any other reason. It was not like I did not have the means to end my life nearby.” he laughed humorlessly, and goosebumps broke out over her arms.  
“And when you returned to France?”  
He tilted his head to the side, a kind of shrug. “There was no real meaning, but there was nothing driving me to the end. It was lukewarm, but there was some music.”  
He looked far away. He must have been, for him to be describing things as a temperature instead of his usual eloquence. He looked up into her gaze. She realized there were tears in her eyes but didn’t want to pull away from Erik so left them. “And now?” she asked.  
He nodded slowly, as if coming to the answer just then. “There is more meaning now.” he said. There seemed to be a great amount of meaning in that sentence, enough to take her breath away. “But it is not something that a single circumstance can change, I think. It is not a switch to be turned on and off.” he added. She nodded slowly.  
“I am glad you told me.” she said.  
“You are crying.” he countered her.  
“Yes, I didn’t say I was happy you feel the way you do, but I am glad you trusted me enough to tell me that.” she said. He ducked his head, then shook it a moment later.  
“I should not allow this.” he said, pulling away. She let him, but he didn’t move far.   
“And why is that?”   
“It will not end well.” he said decisively.   
“Since I am half of what decides how or if ‘it’ will end, I feel I can disagree. But even if there was some inevitable death of our friendship, ending it now would be like cutting off your nose to spite your face, as my aunt would say.” she argued. He didn’t respond for better or worse, and she sighed lightly. She let her thoughts wander and after a moment, a thought startled her into a giggle. Erik looked at her with an expression she could read well enough - utter confusion. “So sorry. I just had the thought that I was glad you liked Tennyson and it was out of place. Then I thought that every time we argue about something, I end up learning more about you, and I thought I need to find another poet you dislike so you’ll tell me more.”   
He shook his head. “You surprise me at every turn. Like we decided before, you may ask me anything you wish. Until now, I have been far more candid than ever before.”  
“I know that, and I thank you for it. You’re right, of course.” she said.  
“There is something I would like to know more about. Edward, your cousin. You said you told him of me?”  
“I did. Only because I know he will keep it a secret. Although he isn’t particularly pleased I’m spending time with the Opera Ghost.” she admitted with a slight smile.   
He nodded thoughtfully. “I am displeased that he knows, but I find I am not as angry as I would have once been.” he said bluntly.   
“I am too, honestly. Grateful, of course, but still surprised. After all, I more or less broke my word to you by telling him.” she said softly. “I am sorry for that, but Edward means very much to me.”  
“I take you at your word he will not speak of me, but he is as far as it is to spread. Then I would be displeased.” She nodded her agreement. “I have one inquiry. Earlier, you came to the correct conclusion about my feelings, but you seemed to be remembering something.” he said, and paused. He spoke slowly, as if trying to come up with the best words. “Has. . .anyone in your life been affected in such a way?”  
She shook her head immediately. “No, not exactly. My uncle was in the army when he was young, he saw a lot of such things. Sometimes he still dreams about them. When we were little, Ed and I would be up late and hear them in the kitchen. We would go and eavesdrop at the door as he would tell my aunt about it as she made him coffee. We got caught once as they moved to the sitting room, and after that my uncle would let me ask him questions so we could hear the stories without listening in at night. Ed and I wouldn’t get much sleep after hearing about it when it was late.” she said with a frown, deep in her memory.  
“You aunt was not opposed? At your age?”  
“Hmm.” Ami thought. “I think she was at first. But I remember my uncle saying something very clearly to her once. He said, ‘You always knew just what to say to me because you knew so many people. Let them do the same.’ I remember it because she got a little teary-eyed at that and hugged him. She always liked acting aloof and proper, so it stood out to me. And so we heard war stories as kids. Maybe not the best idea.” she said with a shrug. “I don’t know if it had its intended effect. I’m getting better, but I’m not as good at dealing with new situations like my aunt.”   
“I think it worked rather well. So, how did your uncle come into his money? You are a well off family.”   
“We are, but that’s from my aunt, actually. My grandmother was very wealthy, and passed it on to my mother and aunt. My mother eloped with a sailor of all things, and so was cut off until I was born, when the family reconciled. From what I can remember, it was lovely.” she said with a wistful smile. “But so was my life, so I can’t complain.”   
“Your parents, they are-” he struggled for the right word. She cut him off with a nod.  
“Yes, disease. It was hard for my aunt. She had her stories because my grandfather father was a doctor, you see. He made sure to teach my mother and aunt everything about staying healthy. It was just something there is no cure for, so my aunt just made sure we didn’t catch it.” she said with a sigh.  
There was something in his eyes when he said, “Yes, I understand.”  
She frowned. “What happened, Erik?” One more thing in his past to hurt him. Was it what caused the gauntness of his body and whatever lay below his mask?   
“The reason I met the daroga was because his son was dying of something like your mother. There was nothing to do but watch.”   
He didn’t catch it, then. She felt guilty for being happy about that. “That’s horrible. He must have been so young, he wouldn’t even understand.” she said. If the daroga was around their age or a little older, to lose a son so soon would be heartbreaking. “But. . .I’m sorry, I don’t know how you met him because of that.”   
“The daroga hired me to poison his son.”  
Ami’s mouth dropped open. “W-what?”  
“The disease was painful. Like you said, the boy didn’t understand. He went blind, and Nadir knew it was only the first function to lose.”  
“Poison was faster.” Ami whispered, a hand shooting up to cover her mouth in horror.  
“Fast and painless as falling asleep. That’s what Nadir told Reza, I would help him sleep.” She swallowed hard over the lump in her throat. “Ami, I-” he began to say something in worry and she shook her head.   
“I’m okay. It’s just. . .” she said, looking over at Erik, whose eyes were shining too. She couldn’t help but lean her head in and rest it on his shoulder. He twitched but didn’t shake her off. She was glad, she wanted the contact at the moment. Even if his shoulder was the most bony she could imagine. “Oh, Erik, how hard that must have been on you. On both of you. You said he felt he owed you, and I can see why. I agree with you, though. There shouldn’t be debts and payments for. . .things like that.”   
“You are. . .sympathetic to my actions.” he said in surprise. His hand drifted towards hers and she took it gently.  
“Of course. It was the merciful thing to do. I just can’t imagine.” she said. He held her hand a little tighter.  
“It was hard.” he said softly enough she took a second to work out the words. “And Nadir was so grateful. I didn’t want him to be grateful for another body I created.”  
“Erik, I don’t think he would have even thought about that at first. He couldn’t have known, and he was a scared father. His son would never be just a body to him. But I understand your reasoning.” She shook her head as much as she could against his shoulder.  
“I never considered fear. He came to the man sometimes called the angel of death for help, after all. But perhaps. Yes, perhaps you are right.” he said quietly. “Thank you, Ami. For not condemning, for letting me. . .” he trailed off. Perhaps he didn’t know the exact feeling he was trying to explain. She only let her thumb move along Erik’s hand, feeling out how thin they were, how long-fingered. There was a period of quiet, maybe five minutes as they just sat with each other in silence.   
“You have good hands.” she said without thinking about it. He tried to look at her, so she shuffled upright so they could make eye contact.   
“How do you come to that conclusion?” he asked curiously.  
“They are musician’s hands.” she explained. “Fine-boned and long, for playing the piano and stretching them to strings. It just suits you, is all.” she said. “Cold, though. May I?” she asked, pulling lightly at the end of a glove so he would know what she meant.   
“I am unsure if that is a good idea.”   
“It’s entirely up to you, of course.” she reassured. Slowly, watching her face at every moment, he peeled away a glove. She was watching his hands, but she could feel his eyes on her. His hands were as expected, a gauntness that looked unhealthy and very long-fingered. Like him, they were borderline unnerving. On anyone else it would represent unhealthiness, on him it must have been normal. With a light sigh she took the hand in her own two, making much greater progress on warming it this time around. She still felt Erik’s eyes on her, and looked up to meet an unsure expression. He was breathing lightly through his mouth, almost like he was waiting for the contact to break. She gave him a moment before taking off the other glove and setting them both down on the coffee table. Finally, she said, “There, they are warm now. Better?” she asked, making no move to pull away.  
He didn’t seize on the chance either. “Hm.” was all the noise he made. “Ami. . .what time is it?”  
“Ah. . . it might be time for me to leave.” she said, but neither of them made much progress in actually moving. She had a smile on her face and finally pulled away with a sigh and stood. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”  
Erik stood as well, and she noticed he did not replace the gloves before walking her back up the stairs to her room. “Until tomorrow.” he said, and with a grin on her face she made her way to the door. She would go and see Ed, tell him everything was alright. Outside the opera, Phillipe de Chagny was leaning lazily against a wall with Sorelli on his arm. He spared only a glance before turning immediately back to the dancer, and Ami almost laughed aloud. It looked like they would be good for each other, judging by how deeply entranced in Philippe's eyes Sorelli was. She practically skipped to the carriage she rented to take to her aunt’s house.  
Her aunt answered the door and invited her in, looking her over. She was pulled into a hug. “Hello to you too auntie. Is everything alright?” she asked in a laughing tone.  
“Of course, dear.” she said, holding her shoulders and pulling her back to look at her. “You just looked so lovely. I’m so glad everything is going well.” she said. Ami smiled. She heard the sound of footsteps on stairs behind her as her aunt asked, “Have you met a boy?” very quietly, leaning in seriously. She was saved by her cousin, trademark arm being thrown around her shoulder. She laughed aloud. “Oh fine, you two go catch up, I’ll make dinner. Don’t you think you’re off the hook.” she said, pointing.   
“Yes cousin mine, have you met a boy?” Ed asked teasingly as he sprawled onto his bed. She sat primly down on the end, so he knew immediately she was avoiding something. “A boy named Erik, who wears a mask and lives god knows where?”  
“I know where he lives.” she said shortly.   
“You’ve been there. Alone!”  
“Yes. And it was completely innocent! I promise, Erik is not the type to be interested in romance.”   
“And you are disappointed.”   
“No, I’m not.” she said. She thought she was being entirely truthful, but the tone sounded off even to her own ears. “I mean, I didn’t think I was. No lying, I promised. And I need to be better about promises.”  
“What else have you broken recently?” he asked jokingly. He knew she wasn’t lying to him.   
“I told Erik I would keep his identity hidden. If he were to be found out-”  
“I’ve already thought about that. And how to make sure it doesn’t happen.”  
“You just stay quiet, what else would there be?”  
“I just mean if anything were to happen. I’d help you cover it up. Unless of course, it was a serious crime.”   
She bit her lip. “He wouldn’t unless someone made him. He’s been seriously hurt in the past. I saw his hands today, and they were almost like a skeleton’s. It wasn’t. . .it wasn’t bad to me but I know he’s been hurt by it.”   
Edward sighed. “I won’t be quick to forgive him for anything he’s done, but I won’t condemn a man for self-defense, not if you think he’s excusable. I don’t know him one way or the other. Just be careful.”   
“Always.” Ami said. She thought she would have to be now. “I should get back after dinner. I was just wanting to tell you I made up with him.”  
“I could tell. Now that I think about it, that’s why I’m willing to forgive him. Whatever else he is, you bloom when you talk about him.”  
She ducked her head. “Thanks, Ed. And you need to come visit more often. Achille misses you.” she said. Edward grinned, and gave his word he would stop by more often.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 10, or "The Chapter That Ran Away From Me and is Action-Packed"  
> Starring butchered historical events, family troubles, not very much music, and Erik's face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *maniacal laughter*

February faded into March. Ami practiced her violin by Erik’s side more days than she didn’t, and often he would sing for her. She was enthralled each time. They had given up the meetings on the roof entirely for now, with Erik meeting her at her mirror door. Although now she could likely make her way down herself, it was an excuse for her to take Erik’s arm. Sometimes, when she was feeling brave enough and he was pleased with her performance, she would take his hand. Not that she needed an excuse, he made no complaints about her warm skin on his cold fingers. Luckily, it didn’t impair his musical abilities like she worried aloud a few days before. It was just that way, he admitted his feet were that cold as well.   
Which is why today she handed him a pair of thick woolen socks, the inside protected from the scratchy fabric by regular cotton.   
She had taken to bringing a bag down with her with her instrument and bow supplies, so she pulled the socks from the bag and showed them off with a little twirl of her skirt. “Ta-da. For your feet.”  
He took the proffered socks instinctively, and she saw his lips part a little for a moment. He looked up at her with warm gold eyes and she smiled widely. He took a step forward, then hesitated. She thought she caught the gist of his action and took a deep breath. Not long ago, she would have stepped back and looked away, or asked if he liked the socks. Now, with the confidence that can be fueled only by having to make a sudden decision, she leaned in and hugged him. It wasn’t a hug like an attack, like her cousin sprung on her, or the lighter hugs she got from her aunt. She had come in slowly, giving him plenty of time to back out. She took his lack of movement as acquiescence, but it might have been panic. Somehow, she had come to realize Erik was not as sure of himself when it came to contact as he was with other things. In fact, he was completely out of his depth. Which was why she had taken to holding his hand as often as possible.   
“Is this okay?” she asked right away when he didn’t respond, holding him lightly. He hadn’t reacted one way or the other, hardly breathing.   
“Yes.” he said quickly.  
“Okay. Tell me if you’re uncomfortable.” she said, and leaned her head against his shoulder. She wasn’t short, but he was still half a head taller than she was. And thin, with a type of lean grace that countered the fearful gauntness of his body as she held him close. She could tell the only padding on his ribs was his shirt and coat. And finally, after all this observation, Erik relaxed slowly into her, his arms coming slowly from wherever they had been before to resting on her arms. He didn’t touch her back, his grip light but firm, as if he was making sure she was still there. They stood there for what must have been a full minute, until she spoke again. “How about you put on those socks and see if they fit, and we can continue this on the couch?” she proposed. He pulled back ever so slowly and he nodded without a word.   
When he emerged from his room she saw him for the first time without shoes on. She blinked once. The socks did fit well, thankfully. She hadn’t known the measurements and the tailor looked at her quite oddly when he got them, but she was glad she didn’t choose a regular size or they would be far too wide. She cracked a grin. Something about the dress pants with casual socks made her giggle. He looked askance at her. “Something the matter?”  
“No. I’m pleased they fit, is all. Do you like them?”  
“Yes.” he said, and smiled himself. “They should help. Thank you, Ami.”  
“Anytime.” she said, gesturing to his normal seat on the couch. When he sat down, she immediately took a hand, flipping it over and playing with the lines in his hand. They were deep, she noted. And some on the side of his hand seemed to be scars rather than the normal lines. She traced a finger across the longest line on his palm. Curved, long, but not as deep as the others.  
“The head line.” Erik spoke up from beside her.  
“What’s that?” she asked in confusion.   
“According to the palmistry I learned from my time among the Romani, that is the head line. With your previous interest in astrology, I thought perhaps you might like to know.” he said. “But if not-” he began, sounding as if he thought her expression of confusion was because she was uninterested.  
“I am. What does it mean?” she asked.  
“I am supposedly creative and interested in knowledge. However, I was told I would not give the greatest advice.” he said. “Nonsense, of course. Anyone would have known that.”  
“Maybe.” she said with a smile, and moved up to the first line. This one was short, but the deepest.  
“The heart line.”   
“This one I can guess myself. You love rarely, but fully. It could be music as much as Nadir.” she said with a smile.   
“An aspiring palm reader? That is about the answer I was given.” She moved to the long, straight line with many breaks that was most prominent on his hand. This was the most different from her own. Hers was light, curved, and solid throughout. His was exactly the opposite, though the breaks fell away about the level of his thumb. “The life line.” he said, and sounded displeased. She only nodded. “I was not given the most ambitious of answers with this line.”   
“Hmm. Well then, I say make your own life line.” she said.   
He smiled once more but shook his head. “You are too optimistic, Ami. There is more to palmistry, but that is all I remember.”   
“Thank you, it was interesting. Perhaps you can read mine, sometime.”   
“If you would like.” he said distractedly, perhaps by her turning his hand once more to trace the light freckles he had on the curve between thumb and forefinger and down to the white mark that cut through one. Erik always looked uncomfortable when she focused on the markings on his hand that weren’t natural, especially those on his wrists. She quickly left the spot and moved up to his fingers instead.  
After a few minutes, his head drooped some. “Are you tired?”  
“I apologize.” he said, sitting up.  
“Nothing to be sorry for. I was just wondering.”  
“I am, yes. I was composing until morning.”   
She sighed lightly. “You could have postponed our meeting.”   
“I’m fine.” he reassured.  
“Well, you can rest now at least. I’m comfortable here for some time.”  
He nodded, which led to his head dropping forward again. She smiled lightly and tapped his hand for attention, then patted her shoulder. He obeyed the unspoken request, and soon his head was on her shoulder. It was only the top, as the rest would have pressed his mask into his face, something that would surely be uncomfortable. After some time, his eyes slipped close. She couldn’t look at him well from her angle, but she felt the ribbon that tied his mask on against his hair, and bit her lip. Such a thin thing, that barrier that kept her from seeing has face. And he was completely unaware of how much she wanted to see under it. He used to be so self-conscious about it all the time, she remembered. Not like it was that long ago for her to forget, but it seemed like ages. Now he was relaxed around her, and smiled often, which shifted the leather up ever so slightly. She couldn’t see anything except that his lips were thin, though. She leaned her own head onto his own and he let out a breath. He seemed almost near sleep, and something about that thrilled her, like getting a stray cat to come to you when it was hurting.   
She could stay like this forever if she could. She closed her own eyes. Erik’s lack of contact with people made her want to never let him go. When he drifted off to sleep, his head turned naturally the other way, and she slid off the couch to make herself a cup of tea. She padded lightly to Erik’s kitchen, looking at the clock. She could stay here another few hours, in the calm and quiet. She still had to tell Erik she was right about Sorelli and Philippe. They had made their relationship quieter, but their casual policy on dating had faded to just each other. She opened the cabinet she had seen him get the tea from, expecting maybe a box or a few jars, but her jaw dropped a little. It looked like a comprehensive tea store in there. She smiled, and decided on one she hadn’t tried before, apparently made with orange peels and black tea. She shrugged and scooped a small bit into the strainer, boiling the water and humming her violin part for the performance this month. She gave a small jump when she closed the cabinet and Erik was standing there, which grew to a smile. “I’m sorry, I hope you don’t mind my intruding.”  
“Not at all, it is my fault for being an improper host.”   
She giggled at the thought. “You are a perfect gentleman, I assure you of that. You didn’t sleep much at all, should I go so I don’t disturb you?”  
“Not at all, if you are willing to play a bit more.”   
She nodded eagerly. “Oh, that’s right.” she said as she dipped her tea strainer into her mug. “I forgot to say I told you so.” He looked up at her in great surprise from his own tea-making and made her laugh. “About Philippe and Sorelli.” she elaborated.   
“Ah.” he said, and sniffed. “Well, it could have gone either way.” he said, but he must have turned to hide a smile.  
“Of course, Erik.” she said in a clearly disbelieving tone. 

A few days later she was eating a light breakfast at her aunt’s house, having agreed to spend the night. Her uncle came in without his usual flourish of taking off his jacket and hat, and instead walked right through the house in dirty shoes making loud thuds as he went. Her uncle was not a man who usually had loud footfalls. She wiped her mouth and scrambled to her feet, leaving her plate behind on the table as she followed him. Edward, who had heard the door slam, came quickly down the stairs. “Ami, what’s up?” he asked. She shrugged and he jogged to meet her as they both walked into the kitchen where her aunt was watering her herbs at the window.   
Her uncle handed her a newspaper without a word, and her annoyed expression about his shoes faded and she walked past them, taking a seat on a kitchen chair. Ed snactched the paper as she went, neither seemed to notice. Ami spared a look towards their hushed conversation before taking the newspaper from Ed, who had only read the title. Ami looked down with fear already growing in her stomach. War With Prussia Inevitable. The words blared out at her and she gasped lightly. She hadn’t been paying any attention to the news. Erik got the paper, but said nothing to her about this, and Achille had been away for a few weeks. Perhaps due to this? She read the rest of the article now, too nervous to even gnaw her lip. “What will happen?” she asked her aunt and uncle.  
Her uncle looked up. “The city will be in chaos for some time. People like us will be fine, we have the funds to just leave. The Opera House will likely shut down, you’ll come with us of course.” Her uncle said calmly. Of course, he probably had this planned since there was a rumor of war. “It won’t last long, I imagine.” he said, seeing her stricken expression.  
“No!” she reacted, too violently. She should have stayed calmer, because she’d evoked her aunt’s full attention. Ami sometimes thought she got her stubbornness from her aunt.   
“Ami Felice Prescott, this is not open to discussion. You may not live under my roof, but you are as good as my daughter, and I will keep you safe. No matter your opinion on it.”   
“I can’t, there’s someone -”  
Edward looked at her sharply. “Let me talk some sense into her.” he said before she could dig herself into a hole. He dragged her upstairs, and her uncle stopped her aunt from following. “What are you thinking. You can’t stay for Erik, he’ll have to leave too.”   
“But Ed, you don’t understand.”   
“No, I don’t! How is the Ami I know willing to starve or die for a boy?”  
“Erik is not just a boy. And there are more reasons than that.”   
“No, there aren’t. Are you about to choose Erik over us?” he asked. He looked like he regretted it.  
“Edward, that was unfair.”   
“Maybe, but the question still stands.”.  
“This isn’t choosing him over you. You know that.” she said. Edward sighed. “I need time to think about this. Please.”   
Edward cursed a few times and marched over to his window, shoving it open. “Go. And you better think fast, before mother and father come to get you.” he warned.  
“God, I love you. I’ll be back by March. You don’t need me to plan with you until then anyway.”  
Edward sighed. “Don’t make me regret this, alright?” he asked. Her guilt welled up in her. She didn’t respond, only slipped out of the window and down the pipe outside, just like when they were kids. 

She practically ran to the carriage and from it to her room, hoping Erik would somehow sense she needed to talk to him right then.  
If there was a deity, it answered her prayers, because he was in her room, holding the same newspaper she had just left. Their eyes met in a moment of horrible understanding, and he made a jerky gesture forwards with his hand, almost a beckon. She stepped forward, and then understood. She embraced him tightly, and this time his arms folded around her back with far less hesitation. “I told you our friendship was a bad idea from the first.”  
“And I still hold that nothing will tear it apart.”   
“You foolish child.” he said, but he only held her tighter. She took a shaky breath against his shoulder.  
“This too shall pass.” she whispered. He pulled back a little, quickly, and searched her eyes.  
“How do you know that adage?”  
“My uncle says it, why?” she asked.  
“Nadir says the same thing.” he said with a chuckle that was half-sob, and she pulled him in again.  
“And he is right.” she replied with determination. Still, she shivered slightly. Finally, she pulled away. “We have to talk about this.”  
“There is nothing to talk about. Your family will see you safe. I will be fine until this passes. Perhaps once the Opera is open again we will see one another.”  
“I can’t accept that.”   
He looked almost angry. “You can, and you will. What else would you do? Stay here? This place won’t be an Opera for much longer.”  
She bit her lip. “I don’t know! But I won’t have you alone for a whole war.”  
He brushed her off with a shake of his head. “I know you are smarter than this. You have to stay safe.”  
“Don’t treat me like a child.”   
“Stop acting like one. I have enough of them on my hands already. The managers are in denial, they will be too late to save anything if I don’t start pressuring them now. I am going to be busy. I suggest you make yourself the same and start saying your good-byes. People are packing even now.”  
“Erik, wait.” she said, when he began to step through the mirror-door. He stopped. She held her arms open and he met her in the middle with a long sigh. She felt a soft tremor in him and knew he was not nearly as composed as he was acting. “You have to meet me soon.”   
“I will. Three days, early.” he promised quietly, and then he was gone.  
She thought now was a good time to go back up to the roof and begin to sob.

The next day she did nearly nothing. They were having their performance at the end of the month but no more music would be given out. Practice was cancelled, no one was in the mood. Erik was slinging notes around madly. There was so much to get done, records to make, boxes to pack, sets to be sorted for destruction and saving. The whole staff was in on it, and a sale was to be held in the hall she attended her dance in, after their last performance. Although no one said the actual word war. It was a taboo. That evening, Erik slipped up. She didn’t see it, but the ballet corps all swore they saw a substantial image of masked figure with glowing yellow eyes. Ami retreated to her room and curled around her pillow for an hour, then with forced determination she got to her feet. She was part of this opera house.  
She went to Madame and Monsieur Ameline, who she had not seen in quite some time, and box by box they sorted and stored and threw away. All three were crying at the losses by the time they broke for lunch, but Ami skipped it and went straight to Sorelli.   
“We need to talk to Philippe. He should help get the opera together, so we don’t lose. . .all of this.” she said by way of introduction. The girl was younger than she, but with an otherworldly gracefulness and lightness of body. She brushed one fine hand over her ballet skirt, starkly bright against her clear dark skin.   
“You are Ami, right? The violinist, who knows the ghost?” she asked haughtily. She sputtered.  
“Why would I-”   
Sorrelli waved a hand. Yes, this one was an aristocrat-in-training. “It doesn’t matter so much right now. I was right, anyway.” she said. “I will talk to Philippe today.” she said.  
Ami nodded gratefully. “Thank you.”   
“Don’t thank me yet. It’s his family I have to convince, not just him.” she warned.  
“Thank you anyway.” Ami said, and was moving on. She thought about the manager’s office, but instead found herself in the laundry room. She helped at that mindless chore for some time until she was starving and realized it was dinnertime.   
The table was full, and it had gossip. Sorrelli had convinced Philippe, now he was talking to his father. If they were lucky, the de Chagny’s would fund transportation to storage for the important goods. The gossip about Erik was at an all-time high, and what she was hearing was making her blood run cold. The dancers sounded like they wanted to talk. Their speculation about the ghost’s reaction to the war made her antsy, and she retired early that night. The next morning, she repeated the process. Tomorrow, tomorrow she would see Erik.

The halls that were always loud with chatter were now filled with hushed conversations. The atmosphere she always enjoyed was nearly oppressive now. The worst of the panic was dying down and things were getting set in motion. Erik was nowhere to be seen or heard from, it seemed he was lying low. Then, two horrible things happened in a span of one week. The first was when she woke up, and Erik was there gripping the paper white-knuckled. Two months Until War spoke the headline. Then, off to the side of that, Opera House Haunted? Source Reveals All. Erik’s lips were a hardened line and she couldn’t read anything from his face. It was like when they had first met, or worse. She almost thought she was dreaming at first, until he spoke. “Do you know who wrote this?”  
“No, I have no idea.” she said honestly. She sat up but remembered she was in a nightgown. Erik noticed the same, and turned quickly.   
“Then there is no doubt it was our lovely patron de Chagny.” he said with a sneer to his voice. She fumbled with her dress at the sheer anger behind his voice.  
“Are you going to do something about it?”  
“Oh yes, I am going to inform him of exactly why it was a particularly bad time to reveal me like this. You are quite certain you do not know who it was?”  
“You don’t know if it was Philippe for sure?” she asked incredulously.   
“I would. If it were not the other suspect.” he said, turning to look her directly in the eyes just as she finished dressing.  
“You think I-”  
“I think your cousin knows too much about me.”   
“Don’t you dare. I refuse to even entertain the conversation further.” she said quietly, not trusting herself to be louder. Erik nodded once, finally. “But why talk to Philippe?”  
“I will do more than talk to the insolent boy. He is interrupting the plans for war. It is dangerous and childish.”  
If she had not been so tired, she would never have replied, “Like you think I’m being?” leveled at him like a challenge. When he turned around, she felt her stomach sink. He didn’t deny it, and she felt tears in her eyes. He looked over his shoulder and saw those tears. He still said nothing. She watched him leave, and with trembling hands picked up her last point of solace, her violin.   
After some time, she had fallen into a light doze when there was a loud knocking on her door and someone opened it.  
“Edward?” she asked in surprise.   
“I didn’t tell anyone anything.” he said immediately, holding up the paper.  
She shook her head. “Of course not.”  
“I just thought, after we fought you might think that I did.”   
“No, Ed. I know better.”  
“Do you know who did it?”  
“Erik does. The Vicomte de Chagny, our patron.” she said, biting her lip. “He’s going to-” she cut herself off. She hadn’t even been thinking. What was he going to do? She couldn’t let him hurt Philippe, not with him being about to help fund the Opera. She hadn’t said that either, too caught up in her own problems. She dropped her head in her hands and groaned. “I’ve been an idiot. He was right, I am childish.”   
Ed put his arm around her shoulder and held her to his side. “You’re scared about leaving your home. We all are. It’s excusable to be a little selfish. Besides, you had a better reason than most of the stubborn people here.”  
“I need to fix this.” she said, gesturing at the paper. “Then I need some time. I need to tell him. . .”  
“I understand. I want to see Achille.”   
“For the same reason?”  
“More or less. We’ve seen each other a lot. I didn’t say anything in case it fell through, but. . .he’s been great. But I haven’t even worked up the courage to tell him I like him as more than a friend.”   
She hugged him closer this time. “Okay. Let’s go get this all sorted out.”

There was a strange sense of deja vu as they made their way down the stairs together. It reminded her of the ball, not long ago at all. It felt like forever, though. She watched Ed go down another hall, and turned on her heel and ran back up the stairs. She found the secret button on the mirror with no problem. He hadn’t been hiding it from her. With a candle better held and a much better knowledge of the path before her, she practically flew down the stairs. Panting by the time she reached the lake, she edged slowly but surely around it. At his home, she knocked loudly on the door. She gave a near-hysterical giggle. Like she was visiting the neighbor to borrow a cup of sugar.  
There was no answer. She tried the doorknob - to her great surprise, it was unlocked. Erik’s defenses must have been whatever alarms she tripped coming here. And as she listened, she could hear one now, and persistent bell by the piano that she couldn’t figure out how to stop. She cut the string. He’d just have to fix it later. “Hello?” she tried, knocking on his bedroom door. Nothing. The fire was dying down. He hadn’t been here for awhile. She shifted her weight back and forth. Had he been in the Opera House? She chewed her lip. Exiting, she slowly made her way back around the lake and up the stairs, slowly this time. She saw another hall, one she’d never taken, and took a deep breath. Impulse led her to Erik all the other times, it should work now.

She began walking. There were none of the traps he had mentioned, but she didn’t know if that meant they were gone, if she were lucky, or if they were just elsewhere. She forged on until the path got more grimy. Or slimy would be a better word. The ceiling lowered, it was more like a fancy sewer than a hallway. She shivered at something. The chill, darkness, mystery, or all three. Finally, she reached a dead end and stood staring at it in confusion. She moved closer. No, there was a ladder here. Bolted to the wall, and looking like it wouldn’t survive being climbed. She reached for the rung and realized she couldn’t do this one-handed, it was just too slippery. Mostly from her sweaty palms. She balanced the candle at the corner of a rung a few steps up. When she got there, she moved it again. The plan worked well until she reached the very top. She peered over the edge and saw a small door. Then, suddenly, her foot slipped and she grabbed the next rung. Where the candle was. It tumbled over the edge and she reached out reflexively to grab it, then thought better of it and it fell harmlessly to the ground, sputtered, and went out. “I can not believe.” she said aloud. Her own voice startled her.   
She did the only thing she could, keep going. The door, thankfully, did not have a hidden button but a regular handle. Even better, it too was unlocked, but its creaking gave her the idea it wasn’t used much. She looked at the ground in front of her, she was outside. She stepped out like nothing was the matter and straightened her clothes. Evening was falling, the sky was getting dark. She probably looked like a prostitute. She didn’t entirely mind, it would mean less explaining than a respectable musician covered in dust at night. She had travelled far, she only vaguely recognized the place. She didn’t come here often. She took a few steps and her foot went into mud. She jerked it back, and noticed another set of footprints. Erik’s? She hoped so. They led into a dark alleyway.

Mud helped her navigate two alleys and lack of other options the next two. Then, she heard voices. Angry, and not far away. She thought of turning back, but then she heard a yell. A yell that was Erik’s, she knew it. It was musical even it’s rage, and she felt cold fear in her chest. For him and for the men with him. She began running towards the noise, not hiding her breathing. She crouched down at the corner, looking carefully around it. Erik was there, surrounded by three men. They had knives. Erik also had something in his hands, like a rope but thinner. It was around the neck of one of the men, who she watched struggle, kicking out and gagging, then fall silent. She felt nausea well up in her and turned around to gag. She took a few breaths of the cold air before looking again. Erik had also incapacitated another man, but the third took a wild swipe with his knife. There was screaming, Erik’s shoulder was cut at the collarbone. She had no idea how badly from here. “You demon!” the man screamed at Erik, cursing wildly. The obscenities continues and Erik made a move with the rope, but the man’s arm had swung up, and the rope wrapped around it instead.   
Everything happened in slow motion next. The attacker’s knife fell from his grip as his arm was pulled back. Erik caught it. The blade gleamed in the light of the setting sun, and he moved it fluidly towards the other man.   
She staggered out of her hiding place and screamed “No!” loudly.  
Erik, in surprise, lost his grip on the knife, clattering to the ground harmlessly. It bounced twice, she noted vaguely. The attacker’s uncaptured arm was reaching up, and she saw it grip the edge of Erik’s mask. Her lips parted in an ‘o’ of horror. She didn’t hear the man’s yelling anymore, or the groans of the man on the ground that was still conscious. All she saw was Erik’s face, still visible enough in the light that she caught the details. She collapsed, her legs giving out entirely as her mouth parted in a silent voicing of something. The attacker did make noise, though she didn’t know what, and ran. He left his weapon, his friends, and Erik behind. Erik looked down, directly at her, and she felt the edges of her vision go blurry. She was gasping for breath. Erik was bleeding. There were two men in the alleyway. None of that took precedence over what his face looked like.   
The skin was so pale it was nearly grey, or perhaps that was the shadows. His eyes were deep set, but the same golden she remembered. The intensity of his look, though, the mix of emotions there, was unfamiliar. He had no nose. Rather, he had half of one, but she could see his nostrils in the front, not like a normal nose. The cheeks were not sunken so much as stretched, his skin looked paper-thin. There were scars across it. His upper lip was so thin she could imagine she would see teeth if it were any thinner. She’d seen his teeth when he laughed. They were well taken care of, and straight. She couldn’t imagine the figure before her ever laughing.   
“Ami.” he said. She froze, meeting his eyes once more. “You need to go back.” he said. His hands were out, palms flat. He was trying to calm her down. He was wearing gloves. She remembered, in the back of her mind, the days when she had held those hands. She whimpered. He took a jerking step back. She pushed herself back into the wall, then shook her head. This was Erik, wasn’t it?   
“Erik?” she asked shakily.   
“Yes, Ami.” he said. She watched the lips form the smooth words, quiet and calming. He was talking to her like she was a scared animal. It was Erik’s voice, but. . . “Please. You need to get to safety.”   
You need to be safe. He had told her that when they first talked about the war. This was Erik. She looked up at his eyes again, slowly. Something of her old stubbornness settled into her bones. “I don’t know what happened.” she said, but the words were slurred.   
“You are in shock. You’ve seen something very surprising, and need to get somewhere safe now. Stay awake, go find your cousin. All will be okay.” She closed her eyes. “Ami, do you hear me?”  
Her hearing the familiar voice with her eyes closed made her open her eyes and reconcile all the new information. She went to bit her lip, and found she had already bitten it bloody. She wondered when that had happened. Her eyes refocused themselves. Erik looked scared. There was a motion behind him, and it must have registered on her face because he had whirled around, knocking down the man once more. He hit his head hard on ground. She winced slightly. They were both unconscious now. “Are they alive?” she asked. It was easier to form that word than dead.   
“Yes. They will live.”  
“That other man. . .”  
“I would have killed him. Please, Ami, you have to get home.”  
“Would you have regretted it?”  
“I - Ami, you-”  
“Would you?” she asked again, testing her leg’s strength. She was going to be okay, if shaky.  
“Yes.” he said, this time a whisper. “Now you must go, Ami.”   
She stood. Instead of leaving, though, she took a step forward. Closer to Erik. And his face. She swallowed hard. He looked like he was doing the same. She reached him, and a shaking hand reached up to his collarbone. “You’re hurt.”   
“It is nothing.” he said. He was turning away, so she wouldn’t see his face. She reached up and touched it. His face jerked around to meet hers. His breathing had gone shallow. His hands were shaking too. She touched his face anyway. There was a long red scrape where the edge of the mask cut him when the man pulled it away. She traced it, and he curled in on himself at the touch. He made a noise that was supposed to have been her name. Everything seemed much clearer now.  
“We both need to get home. Let’s go.” she said calmly, and took his hand. He looked frantically around for his mask, but it looked like the man carried it off. “There is no one on the way back. And it’s dark enough. You’ll be hidden.”   
“Ami.” he said again. She only held his hand tighter. They needed to get home.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's talking time!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hoo boy, not long now. this is fluffy, at least for our favorite basement gremlin. it'll get fluffier.

The streets of Paris were completely empty as they went back to the entrance to the halls under them. The only sound was their uneven breathing and their footfalls, the wind, and night birds singing. Somewhere a cat yowled and they both jumped. The cellars were even more quiet, where their steps were muffled and there was no wildlife. And suddenly they were in Erik’s home, and the doors were locked, and they faced each other once more. The face was a shock again, but not enough to send her into distraction. She kept his hand and led him to the bathroom, turning on the faucet to hot and filling the tub. “Take off your jacket.” she said. 

Something of just how shocked they both were showed through when he did as she asked, and he unbuttoned his shirt four buttons without her asking, revealing a bony chest and the wound under his collarbone. She cleaned it carefully and washed the rag out. His face was dirty from the scuffle, and she slowly reached the warm, damp towel up. He closed his eyes and flinched, but at the contact his eyes opened and he leaned in. She carefully cleaned his face, and dried it with another towel. “Our hair.” she said next, and dunked her head into the water unceremoniously, scrubbing it clean with soap. Not ideal, but it was better than whatever else she picked up outside staying there. Erik washed his much more carefully, giving her time to take off her dirty outermost layer. It was a dress with another layer over the slip, so she was not too exposed. No more than him. It felt fair that way. “Make us tea please.” she said next, with a smile to make it not seem like an order. They both stood, tossing their towels on the floor. She wished she had something to pull back her hair with. She went to the living room and stoked the fire to burning very hot, and pulled down blankets and pillows. She went to bring her tea in and took a sip, savoring the scalding on her throat as further proof all of this was real. She only flinched a little when reintroduced to Erik’s face a third time. She gestured to the seats by the fire.   
“I should --”  
“Later. Please.” she said. Perhaps it was unfair to make him go without a mask, but she wanted to make him know it was okay. Rather, it would be okay. She could already touch it. Soon it would be okay. He sat down. She turned to him, licking her suddenly dry lips, and reached out to caress his face. His shoulders caved in once more around her hand on his face, hair falling into his eyes. She got lower so she could meet his gaze and lightly dragged her thumb over his face. “Does it hurt?”  
“Not usually.”   
“Good.” she said. A long pause. “This too shall pass.”   
“This too shall pass.” he repeated the words quietly. “I can hide this. You don’t have to see.”   
“I’ll be just fine soon. I’ve always wanted to see. Just not under the circumstances of you being hurt. . . your collarbone?”  
“Will heal fine. One more scar will not hurt.”  
“Maybe not you.” she said quietly. She leaned in and embraced him, carefully. “I’m so glad you’re okay.”  
“And yourself? You were in shock.”  
“I’m exhausted, not hurt. I owe you an apology. I was being foolish.”  
“No. You were being the person you are, with your experiences. I would never change that.”  
She leveled her gaze at him. “I would. I want to stay with you when the war reaches Paris.”   
“Why?” he asked, barely above a whisper.   
“I’ll tell you in the morning. Can I stay here tonight? I don’t want to be alone.”  
“You can. I have a room --”  
“Or we could just stay here, together.” she suggested.  
“Alright. Come, let us prepare.” he said.

They slept, some. Not very much. She awoke long before dawn and peered around. Erik was there, but he was sitting up by the fire. He must have added some wood not long ago. He’d changed into soft pajamas he had explained were from Persia, and their lack of tailoring meant she could see how thin the man before her was. She longed to hold him again. She rustled some fabric so he would not be startled when she said, “Erik.” He turned slowly, head down and in shadow. He had not replaced the mask. The firelight flickering on the contours of it made her pull the blanket closer to herself, there was something eerie about the shadows she hoped would go away soon.   
“How can you bear to look at my face, Ami?” the question was tremulous. She wondered how long it had been on his lips. 

Although she longed to immediately protest she would never have found anything truly wrong with it, she stopped. She couldn’t know if she were right, and it wasn’t the answer he was looking for. Talking with Erik had taught her a lot about curbing her instinct to say the first thing that came to mind. She thought about it for a long moment, watching his apprehensive gaze. “Because I know you. At least. . .I know you enough. I know the vaguest details about your past, enough to piece together a story. I know that you overcame those things. I know that you aren’t a perfect man, but you are one who wants to atone for what you have done and what you were made to do. I know that you are doing your best to be kinder, and that you have always been a gentleman to me. That. . .you have helped me so much. You inspired my music, you made me a better person.” He looked doubtful at the last. “Truly, Erik. Although you might be frustrating at times. . .most of the time, I have learned more about balancing my personality. I’m both stronger and more willing to look from another’s point of view. Who knows where I would be without you? I could have turned into some old shrew.” she said with a smile, wanting to lighten the mood. It worked, he smiled back. It did nothing to improve his face exactly, but the light in his eyes reassured her greatly, and the warmth she felt in her heart made her realize his face did nothing to change her feelings towards him. She wasn’t sure if that was a blessing or a curse. “Is that a good enough answer?”

His expression was restrained. He was so expressive, now. He would never have had to school his features, hidden by a mask. “It will take time to accept. But you are here.” he said. “With me, and you did not run, or -” he shook his head, imagining the alternatives. She lightly touched his face, causing him to sharply draw in breath.   
“I’m sorry.” she said quickly. Slowly, Erik relaxed, looking like he was forcing himself to. He waved a hand but said nothing. “No, really. I should have asked. Is it okay if I touch you now?”  
He nodded slowly. She waited a verbal yes, then touched his face. As bad as it was to look at, touching it was not bad at all. She simply felt like she had to be careful lest she break the skin. The ridges on the skin, she realized, were scars that blended in with his pallor. She sighed. “I wish I stopped them sooner. I just watched.” she said without context, but he understood.  
“There was nothing you could have done. You only would have gotten yourself hurt.”   
“You’re right, but still.”   
“You did do something.” he amended, meeting her eyes for the first time while she touched his face. “You distracted my assailant. That stopped me from killing him. You saved a life last night. And I thank you for that.”   
She freed herself from the blanket and inched closer until their legs were touching. “You’re welcome.”   
“Nadir told me, before he saw me off on the boat that brought me here, that he would be the keeper of my conscience. I couldn’t be trusted with it. He meant for me not to kill anyone again, either. You have realized his wish in yourself. You hold something of me in you.”   
“Erik.” she sighed, longing to do nothing except lean in and kiss his forehead. It was a nearly physical need, and she smoothed a thumb over his cheek. “Will you let me tell you why I want to stay with you now?”  
He looked confused. “Certainly.”   
She leaned in slowly, so slowly he could have pulled away at any time, or said something. But he did not, and her lips touched his forehead lightly, lingering for a few seconds before pulling back. She’d done it. Erik’s lips were parted, his breathing shallow. She looked on in concern for a response, when he leaned forward so she could not see his face. “Erik?” she asked, her voice high. She realized then he was crying. “Oh no. I’m so sorry, I should’ve asked, I can go?” she said quickly, and made to scramble away from him but he took her hand lightly, and it was enough to still her.   
“Don’t leave, Ami. I just never would have thought - never hoped for -” he said, trailing off. He initiated an embrace, and she held him tightly in return. She could feel him through his thin clothing, his heart was beating fast. She didn’t know how long passed. It couldn’t have been long, the fire was still burning warmly when they pulled apart. He closed his eyes and began to speak. “When I was a child still with my mother, I asked for a birthday gift. It was. . .foolish of me. I knew before I asked I should not have said it but I didn’t anticipate - she had never let me see my own face, you see. I have never had a home with mirrors. I asked for-” he shook his head, like saying it out loud was painful or embarrassing, or both. “I asked for two kisses. One for then, and one to save for later. In return she dragged me to her hand mirror. I thought a demon was inside. I broke it, and that was the night I left. From that moment I accepted there would be no kisses and no gifts. And you have given me both. And I have given you neither.” he added as he remembered.   
“I don’t need gifts. I would welcome a kiss, though.” she said. 

He looked at her with a determination that would have been sweet were it not so heartbreaking, and took her hand, kissing her knuckles, just a brush of lips. They were soft. She smiled at him in encouragement, and he touched her face with a feather-light touch, kissing her cheek. “You do not mind this?” he asked.  
“Not at all. May I?” she asked, and he nodded quickly. She kissed his forehead again, his cheeks, his jaw. “If you feel the same, you might understand why I would want to stay.”   
“I do.” He was incredulous. “I do. But Ami, you would be committed to this for however long this war lasts. Relationships are inevitably strained by things like this, I wouldn’t want. . . to ruin this.”  
She took his hands in hers. “I know this feels fragile. I feel like I’m just waiting to wake up, to be honest.” she laughed breathlessly. “But it isn’t fragile. We can be strong in this. I think I would do anything for you, Erik.” she confessed.   
It was his turn to laugh in surprise, more a sigh than anything else. He took a long, deep breath. “Let us go to the roof. I need air.” he said. She nodded her agreement.   
“I need to change. I’ll head up to my room, come in when you’re ready.” she said, knowing he needed some time. She kissed his cheek once more, and swept away, feeling more confident than she felt. 

The cool morning air was exactly what she needed. Erik was back in full attire, and they were both cleaner than they had been. Although the mask was more familiar than Erik’s face, it looked almost out of place now. Naturally, he noticed her staring. “What are you thinking, Ami?”  
“That I like your face better than a mask.” she said honestly. He moved closer to her, tilting his forehead forward until it leaned against hers. She smiled lightly.   
“You will forever astound me.”  
“I hope so. It’s hard to keep the opera ghost on his toes.”  
“That phantom is gone, at least for now. I instituted everything I needed, now they would only be distracted by me. I have plenty of funds from them, anyway.” he told her.  
“And Philippe?”  
“I will leave him alone. I should never have sought him out in the first place. That piece he had written was just sensation that would let him take donations to help the place. Still, Ami, I want you to understand my reasoning.”   
“I do. But this way you won’t be exposed, since you won’t even be around.”   
He sighed. “Won’t I? Where would you want us to go?”  
“I don’t know, Erik. Somewhere. What about up in the mountains? There aren’t many people up there.”   
He looked away, thinking. Shook his head. “Perhaps. Not the mountains, but you might have an idea.” he said distantly. He returned his gaze to her. “And your family? What will you tell them?”  
“I will tell Edward that I am going with you. He can tell my aunt and uncle that I eloped, or am with friends, or something. I owe him so many favors.” she sighed.  
“You should speak to him. I would not blame you if you decide to go with them. I need to plan many more things. Meet me here, in three days. I will be waiting.”   
“No newspapers, this time?”  
“No newspapers.” he agreed with a smile.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Only two chapters left after this! Fingers crossed you like them

The evening before she was to meet with Erik again, she was sitting with Edward at a cafe down the street from the Opera House. Achille had just left for the night, and Edward had announced his success by giving the violinist a kiss on the cheek. He blushed brightly, and practically ran away. “Well, that seems to have gone well. What about our family?” She asked with a smile.  
“They’re livid. They are going to kill you when you come back. And they fully expect you to come back before the war reaches Paris.”  
“Do you think I will?”  
“I’m really not sure Ami. How did your admission go?”  
“It went well.” she said simply. “He would not be adverse to me staying with him.” she picked the words carefully.  
“You’re beating around the bush and it’s weird.”  
Ami laughed. “Sorry. We like each other. If I have the chance I will stay with him. It might be more complicated than that, though.”   
“No kidding.” Ed said with a sigh. “But if that’s what you want, I wish you luck.”  
“I’ll know for sure soon enough.”  
“Let me know when you do. I’m going to head back home, alright. Let me walk you back.”  
“I”m fine, I’m going to get myself a nice eclair before I go.”   
Ed chuckled. “Alright, but stay safe. The streets are dangerous.”  
She snorted lightly, she knew that well enough now. “I’ll be careful.” she promised. A quick hug and she was at the counter as stated, buying her pastry and eating outside in the cool night air, much more comfortable now that spring was rolling in.  
She was walking back to the Opera when she spotted two men across the street acting suspicious. One was rather scrawny, the word cute sprang to mind. The other was dark-skinned, with a voice that carried confidently across to her. “Darius,” he was saying to his companion, and then something in a different language. The man that must be Darius said something back rapidly. “Honestly.” the first man said in French, and she made a few steps back toward the cafe, just in case they weren’t the most upstanding. But he sounded sure enough she was strangely not worried. After a few more words with each other, Darius began approaching.   
She bit her lip, but waited. “Hello mademoiselle.” he said with truly awful pronunciation. She hid her smile behind her hand.  
“Hello.” she offered.   
“We are looking for the House Opera.” he said. She did giggle, this time. “Sorry, I am new to French.”  
“No, I am sorry for being mean.” she said, making sure to enunciate. “The Opera House is just this way. Why are you looking?”  
He snapped his fingers as he remembered the proper sentence structure. “A. . .friend is here, we are going to convince him to leave before the war.”  
“Let me take you and show you around.” she offered.   
“Thank you so much. One moment.” he said, and called, “Nadir,” and something else she didn’t understand. Her eyes widened, and she looked intensely at the approaching man.   
“You name is Nadir?”  
“Yes, Nadir Khan, and this is Darius. And yourself?”   
She was too busy letting her jaw hit the ground to answer. “Nadir Khan, from Persia? Here for a friend?” she asked incredulously.   
Nadir looked at Darius and for the first time looked something other than jovial. “What do you know?” Her jaw snapped shut and she began to snicker, then full on laugh. It sounded a little hysterical even to her own ears. Nadir said something in Persian.   
“Mademoiselle, perhaps you need some rest.” This from Darius.  
“No. I’m sorry. It has just been a busy week. Monsieur Khan, you came because you saw the paper? But how on earth would it reach Persia? And how would you get here in time?” Another flurry of conversation in Persian. “That is impolite, you know.”  
“Tell me what you know about the Opera Ghost.” Nadir said now, leveling his gaze at her. His eyes were very, very blue.   
“I know that Erik is going to be very happy to see you right now, although he will say otherwise with the war going on. You’re also just in time. The Ghost retired.” she said with a laugh. “Tomorrow morning meet me in front of the Opera House at, oh, ten, we’ll go meet him together, shall we?” she offered. Nadir must have been stunned, but he dealt with it well. He only nodded stiffly.   
“Until then.”

Erik knew something was fishy when she was awake and waiting for him in full attire, breakfast in her hands.   
“What’s all this?”  
“I met someone yesterday evening.” Erik only raised a brow, waiting for her to elaborate. She bounced on her heels as she added, “One Nadir Khan.”   
“You what?”   
Ami grinned at this reaction. “He was quite polite. It seems he learned French. Well, some of it. He had a friend with him named Darius, and I told him he could meet you today at ten, when I lead him to you.”   
“Ami.” Erik growled in warning.  
“I know. But really, what was I going to do? He’s probably nearly as suspicious as you, he wouldn’t give me his address. And he’d have no way to find you on his own, what if you missed him?”  
Erik shook his head, but his words were resigned. “Very well. It is for the best you brought food, then.” he said, and they retired to the roof for their morning meal. 

At ten exactly Ami appeared at the doors of the Opera. Nadir was there, alone this time.  
“Kind of you to learn French and come all this way.” she greeted casually.  
“I was already in the area to receive the paper. I thought he might be here. Again I ask you, what do you know of him?”  
“Honestly, Monsieur Khan, not nearly as much as I’d like. However, I know that you have done much for him, so thank you from the bottom of my heart.” she told him honestly. His steps faltered some. “He is more reclusive than he was in Persia.” she said. “The rest you’d better just ask him.”  
Nadir huffed. “You have been remarkably unhelpful.”   
“I’ve spent a lot of time with Erik.” she quipped, and she saw his lips twitch into a smile. “You must admit it explains a lot.”   
He shook his head, but was smiling. 

Erik had a kind of energy that was self-contained, always just below the surface, drawing you to him - or more likely, away - and Nadir’s was a kind of mirror, the flip side of the coin. He had an aura that broadcasted from him and invited other people around him. People smiled at him on the street, although the atmosphere had been quite tense. “Maybe.” he said.   
“I can only imagine his face when he sees you showed up.” she said with a snicker, and Nadir froze.   
“What do you mean by that?”  
She looked him dead in the eyes, smiled, and said nothing. Let him sweat a little, it was fun to play mysterious like this. No wonder Erik acted the phantom for so long. Besides, she didn’t want another tearful expression of feelings this early in the morning.  
Erik was waiting for her on the roof, and he had apparently steeled himself for his meeting with Nadir. He was standing there, looking as intimidating as he possibly could. She, who had seen him in tears without a mask on after being attacked and then slept by his side, was simply not phased. Nadir, who had seen his face and watched him torture people, must have been away for too long, since he froze in place. They looked at each other across the roof like they were about to pull guns and duel each other. She waited a few moments and scuffed her heel on the ground to cause a reaction. Her next plan was to walk over and kiss Erik’s jaw, but the shoe was enough to spur conversation. She retreated to the statue’s base and took a seat.  
“Daroga, my old friend.” Erik spoke eloquently, making his voice musical. Nadir’s brows raised in surprise. Erik had mentioned he was less musical in Persia. She couldn’t imagine Erik without that lilt to his voice, but Nadir could.   
“If you haven’t learned to call me Nadir, or at the very least Khan by now -” was his reply. “It has been too long, friend.”   
“You have certainly learned much better French since the last time I saw you.”   
He said something in Persian, it seemed almost teasing. “No, I have not forgotten any Persian. The Mandazarin tends to stick in one’s mind on pink mornings and hot days. However, you have forgotten your manners.”   
“Once again, my apologies, mademoiselle.”   
“Please, call me Ami lest I fall into Erik’s habit of calling you Daroga.”   
“Ami it will be, then.”  
“Now that is all settled, what have you come here for, Nadir?” Ami asked directly.  
“To bring Erik to my home for however long this thing in Paris lasts.” he answered, but was looking at Erik. She looked at him too, quickly. “Where is your home, Nadir?” she asked carefully.  
“To the west, against the Seine where there is the forested area. South of Rouen.” he explained.  
“And the war would not touch there?”  
“No. It is very small, private. There would be no reason, even if they desired control of the Seine.” Ami nodded. She looked back to Erik.  
“I must speak to Ami alone.” he responded evenly. Nadir stood slowly, looking at her with a question in his eyes, but she was too busy wondering about Erik’s words to respond to it, and he left through the door.

Erik came up to her, taking her hands. She rested their foreheads together. He smiled slightly. “You would have come to be familiar with the phrase, deus ex machina.”   
She laughed lightly. “I am. Nadir Khan ex machina is new, though.”  
“With Nadir, you would be allowed to leave at anytime, since he could conduct you.”   
“He could. But that wouldn’t be necessary.” she said with a smile. Erik sighed.   
“I want to believe you. But-”  
“Different experiences. I know. And I will be here to learn all about them, and help you with warm tea and kisses.”   
“Would you. . .” he trailed off. She hummed in confusion. “Kiss me now?” he asked all in one breath.  
She smiled. “Yes. May I lift your mask a little?” He nodded slowly, and she took the corner, bending the leather, and pressing her lips on his cheek for a second. He returned the gesture on her forehead, and she felt warmth in her.

Nadir decided then would be the time to rejoin them. “You have little patience, my friend.” Erik said with some irritation over her shoulder. She took a second to remember they had company. “Well, Ami. You will come to his house with me?” he whispered in her ear, voice musical and promising. She nodded into him quickly.  
Pulling away and turning, she grinned at Nadir’s look of great surprise. “Is there room for two in that house of yours?” she asked with a lilt to her own voice.   
His mouth made a series of movements that might have been a great many words being considered and discarded. In the end, he decided on nodding instead. “May I speak alone with Ami?” Nadir asked.  
Erik stiffened a little, and she responded quickly, “I’d rather not. I appreciate whatever concerns you may have and assure they are unnecessary. I would, however, speak to you if you would like to come with me to tell my family I will not be going with them out of Paris.” She said, squeezing Erik’s hand in reassurance. Nadir only nodded once more.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nadir meets the Prescotts, and Ami says goodbye

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Goodness gracious, there's only one more chapter. I feel like at the end, writing this story was like pulling a thread and everything unraveling. It might all be over a little too quickly, but I think I've made my peace! Hopefully you like it just as much -- I'll probably post the last chapter tomorrow and mark this complete c:

To his credit, Nadir got a full block outside the Opera towards her aunt’s house before he let the question go all in one big breath, like he had been wrestling it back this whole time. “What are you to Erik?”  
Ami was in a blissful mood, walking on air. She responded with a sly smile. “Jealous?” she asked, and laughed liltingly. “I kid. I. . .” she stopped as she realized she hadn’t said the words aloud. “Well, he is my stars in the sky.” she said, blushing faintly. “And he feels the same.”  
“How long have you known him?”   
“Oh. . . not long. Six months. But they were largely spent together. And once you start getting to know Erik, I feel that’s something you either are in for the long run, or you stop right away. We’re close.” she tried to explain.   
Nadir seemed to take pity. “Erik is a unique man to know. And he told you of me?”  
“Oh yes. He is very of you. You can tell because when he insults you it is only for you doing something he approves of.” she said with a smile. Nadir chuckled.   
“And his time in Persia?”  
She looked at her feet. “Some of it. The largest things. The details are harder, I think. He told me about how he befriended you. You were both so young, to be going through so much. Thank you, for not just leaving him after what he did for you. It would have been easier for you.”   
“Yes, but I saw something in Erik. It was always my hope for him to be happy. He seemed much more. . .alive.” Nadir explained. He didn’t seem too put off that Erik had told her about him, only a little relieved if anything.  
She nodded again. “Yes, he told me. . .well, his past was a hard time for him. The music helped.”  
“The music, and perhaps you?”  
“I can only hope. I want to make him happy.”   
“Enough to follow him with an old friend to somewhere away from your family? In wartime?”  
“Yes.” she said instantly. “It won’t be easy. But my uncle will take good care of my aunt and cousin. They’ll be happier with me not climbing the walls in boredom, and that is if I ever got over Erik being in Paris alone for the war.” she shook her head.  
“It is not something I liked to envision either. It is lucky that our paths crossed.”  
“Oh, with Erik I’m sure it would have happened sooner or later. But I am glad to meet you.” she looked up, and saw they were at her aunt’s house. “Oh, and one last thing. I’m going to tell my aunt and uncle you are the one I’m running off with. You’re a musician, you have funds saved, and we are travelling with your, I don’t know, brother, who also has money. Got it?”  
Nadir spun on his heel. “Excuse me?”  
“Would you rather I say I’m going to elope with the Opera Ghost?”  
His jaw opened and shut. “It seems I have little choice here. You have learned from Erik.”   
“You wound me, Daroga.” she said in her best impersonation of Erik’s tone. He snorted, then schooled his face and knocked on the door. He looked a little too confident to be a nervous lover, but she hoped he would pass.  
Her aunt swung the door open, grabbed Ami by the shoulder, and yanked her in. Nadir trotted in behind her in confusion. Edward was looking closely at Nadir, but seemed to know right away this was not the man she was talking about. He looked askance at her, but she had no time to say anything.  
“What do you have to say for yourself?” This was, to Ami’s surprise, coming from her uncle who walked in from the kitchen. He looked tired, and she felt a pang of guilt right to her gut.   
“I’m so sorry. I just had to make my decision.” she said.  
“Who is this?” her aunt asked.  
“This is Nadir Khan. He’s my. . .we’re. . .together. And he’s leaving Paris, of course, and I am going to go with him.”  
Her aunt went pale. She took a deep, steadying breath. “Everyone, into the sitting room.”   
The room was starkly clean, it seemed every personal item had been packed. “Monsieur Khan. Who, exactly, are you?” Her uncle asked.  
He delivered his cover story flawlessly, explained even that he was born in Persia and moved when a young teen to play music here. He said he was born poor, and didn’t want to hurt Ami’s name. It was beautiful, really.  
“Like mother, like daughter, I suppose.” her aunt said after he had finished speaking.  
“You were more my mother, auntie. It’s just. . .similar.” she finished weakly.  
Her uncle had been sizing him up this whole time. “You have enough funds?”  
“I do.” he promised.   
“Is that it? You’re okay with this? And you, Ed?” Her aunt demanded in disbelief.  
“I knew. . . some of it.” Ed said. “I’ll talk to them later.” he threatened her levelly.  
“I am alright with this, actually.” her uncle said. “So long as she’s safe.” 

There was more conversation, but eventually, everyone acquiesced. And she was promptly hauled upstairs by Edward, with Nadir again following dutifully. He looked amused, actually.  
“Enjoying the show?” she asked snarkily.  
“Yes.”   
She couldn’t help but laugh when Edward did at that reply. “So, cousin mine. Who is this imposter, and where oh where is the Opera Ghost?” Ed said, lightly pushing her away from the door.  
“You told him about Erik? And Erik knows?” Nadir interrupted.   
“She hasn’t told me nearly enough.” he muttered.  
“The circumstances are. . .complex. But I told him some, and yes, Erik knows.”   
“My question still stands.” Ed reminded them.  
“My name is Nadir Khan. I am a friend of Erik’s, and I came to remove him from Paris for this war. He would not go by himself.”   
“Alright. So you met Ami, you met Erik, and. . .”  
“And I’m leaving with Erik to go live with Nadir and his friend. It’s all quite safe. And Erik has money.”  
“Ah yes, extortion money. Don’t give me that look, I’m not complaining that you’ll be well off. Ami. . .” he paused. “I’ll miss you. Stay safe.”   
She threw herself at him and hugged him with all her might. “Ed, you’re the best.”  
“So you keep saying.”  
“Will you and Achille. . .?”  
“We’ll keep in touch. When the war is over, we can get to know each other.”  
“That’s good. Okay. We should go.”  
“Use the door this time, please?” Ed said teasingly. 

On the streets, Nadir remarked, “You have a wonderful family.”   
“They really are. I didn’t really appreciate it before I started working at the Opera House.”   
“You do not mind leaving all that, for whatever life awaits you? My home is not that large, and not near many people.”   
“I don’t mind at all. I’ve been told I’m stubborn.” she said with a smile.  
“Somehow, I believe you completely.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end of our journey, although not the end of theirs!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I shouldn't be allowed to write endings, ever. Maybe someday I'll edit this.   
> And this is the part where I beg for reviews, and thank you all for sticking with me this far!

Packing was an unexpected ordeal. Ami had all her things packed in one night, reminiscent of the first night she spent here cleaning and organizing the room. She hadn’t planned on telling anyone anything, so Madame Giry would be quite surprised. Well, perhaps she should tell Madame Ameline and her husband, lest they think something bad happened to her. She would just not tell the whole truth. Or any of it.  
She came back from her meeting with the jovial costume mistress with a slightly tear-stained shoulder where the older woman cried on her shoulder and congratulated her on her new engagement to an Englishman.   
An Englishman named Tennyson.   
She was not meant to be an actress, it seemed. When she returned, relieved, to her room, Erik and Nadir were there waiting for her, standing off on opposite sides of the room.  
“You cannot bring that much, Erik. How do you even have that many boxes of things? And -- oh, Ami, thank heaven you are here. Tell this man that he cannot bring eight boxes with him.”   
She was wont to agree with Nadir, but remembered how Erik felt about being ordered about. She instead carefully asked, “What is inside of those boxes, Erik?”  
“My music.” he said simply, like that justified it. Ami furrowed her brows. She thought she might understand the problem. “Nadir, could you let me talk to him, please?”  
“Gladly.” the man said, departing quickly. She was glad the observant man didn’t pick on her her discomfort.  
“You know you can’t take it.” Ami said softly.   
“It is my life, Ami. How can he take his drawings from Reza, how can you take your pictures of Edward, and I not take those pages? I do not ask him to carry the organ on his back, but I do ask this.”  
She stepped forward, he melted into her touch in a way uniquely his. She ran her fingers over his shoulders, not wanting to meet his eyes and tell him no. He already knew he could not, she knew, just needed justification. “Bring them here?” she asked suddenly.  
“They are, right behind the mirror door.” Erik said, opening the entrance to reveal boxes. They were smaller than she thought, a good sign.   
“You know, Erik, leaving will not take your music from you. It was not contained to this place or time. Even if you don’t get to keep the organ.” she joked lightly. “I can play for you whatever piano piece you need, if you transcribe it.”  
“You didn’t know me, before the music. I told you some, but. . .Ami, I -- I was ready to commit great harms to myself to keep my mind musical.”  
“Think of one of those things. Would you do it, if I were there with you? Playing for you?”  
Erik looked away from her gaze. “I want to say no. But how would I know?”   
“Because you trust me, like I trust you. And I promise that it will be alright.”  
Erik sat heavily on her bed. She climbed up behind him and began to massage his back lightly. “All of that composing.”  
“Not all of it. Will you sort it with me? I can help you, take some where I have space. And you can keep some, just not all.”   
He looked up at her gratefully. “I apologize for being so foolish. I am not usually a sentimental man.”   
“Somehow, I seem to disagree. But I wouldn’t want it any other way.” she told him, placing a kiss on the top of his head.

Sorting done, Nadir came back to only two boxes. He looked at Ami appraisingly, and nodded in approval. She restrained an eye-roll. He was usually encouraging, but he definitely was a policeman in his past. Soon, they had a carriage packed and parked outside the Opera, like so many others were. Nadir went back to his home with Darius, and Erik and Ami wandered to the rooftop.   
“I have not been outside of this Opera house in the daylight for many years.” Erik whispered.  
She took his hand. “Do you remember the first night we spent here, together, before you would even tell me your name?” she asked. It was a non-sequitur, but he didn’t seem to care.  
“I do. I never expected to tell it to you. In fact, I was preparing ways to disappear if you went and told. But I was desperate.” he confessed. Ami looked up in surprise. “I think I was waiting for someone like you. Someone that would understand. . .you were more than I could’ve hoped for.”  
Ami blushed. “You romanticize me too much. I was just a stubborn girl, trying to find her place in the world. You helped me so much. I kept trying to explain it to you, it was very important you knew. Only family had helped like that before. I was never the greatest at making the right kinds of friends.”   
“I can’t say I am the right kind of anything, but I am glad you put so much faith in me. You are my world, Ami. The only reason I would leave this place.”   
“I will make sure I deserve it. You are the stars in my sky.” she said, feeling silly for using the phrase, but Erik leaned into her. “Would you take that off? I would very much like to kiss you.”   
He did so. It was always slow, hesitant, waiting for her to change her mind. She never would. She was stubborn like that. When he held it in his hands, she took no time in kissing him. He was a quick learner, she soon had pulled him close. He broke away when her hands wandered under his jacket.  
“I am. . . I will have to take things at my own pace.” Erik said, a little fearfully.  
“Of course, Erik.” she said, leaning in to rest foreheads on each other. “Never feel bad telling me to stop. I love you too much to hurt you.” she said.  
There was a long pause. “You -- what?” he asked, and she looked up in confusion to see why he had frozen so suddenly. She remembered her words and covered her mouth quickly.   
“I did not mean to say that. I wanted it to be. . .more special.”  
“But. . .you love me?” Erik asked again. He looked faint. He was leaning on her, in fact. Concerned, she led him to sit at the base of a statue.   
“Erik, are you alright? Can I get you something?” she asked.  
“Love.” he repeated softly.  
“Yes, I love you, Erik. Are you so surprised?”  
“Am I --?” he asked incredulously, looking up at her. He choked out a laugh at first, and then began to laugh, fully and a little tearfully. Ami looked on in something between worry and amusement. “Yes, Ami, I am surprised!” he finally said after he had laughed himself breathless. “You love me. Erik. . . someone loves. . .and --” He whirled on her, approaching quickly, searching her eyes as he lightly took her hands in front of his chest, holding them and her close. She smiled up at him, glad he was physically fine. “And I love you. More than anything. More than music. More than Paris, or the moon, or the sun. I love you, Ami.” he said. It sounded like he was taking an oath in church, the most solemn she had ever heard. His hands drifted into her hair, carding through it lightly. “Ami.” he said again, and embraced her.   
With that embrace, everything that could have been a problem evaporated like so much morning dew. They were together, they were safe, and they would make a life for themselves.


End file.
